


Furry Problems

by BATTLEFAIRIES, SnippetsRUs



Series: The Motley Mayhem [4]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Forgotten Realms
Genre: Arcane Archer, Berserker - Freeform, Blood and Gore, Chauntea, Cognitive Dissonance, Comedy, Dark Elf, Death, Drow, Durthans, Elves, Eventual Romance, Evocation, Evoker, F/M, Facts, Facts vs Feelings, Fan Characters, Fantasy, Fell Troll, Fighter, Fire, Fleas, Fluff, Forgiveness, Friendship, Gen, Hag, Half-orc, Hathrans, Humans, Illuskans, Interracial By Fantasy Standards, Interracial Relationship, Knight in Silver, Male-Female Friendship, Mielikki, Moon Witches, Motley Mayhem, Ranger - Freeform, Rashemaar, Rashemen, Rashemi, Rebirth, Reconciliation, Red Wizard, Regrets, Reincarnation, Revelations, Selûne, Selûne's Rest, Silver Marches, Sorceress, Spellguard, Tales of Rashemen, Thayan, Thayan Knight, Triune Goddess, Troll - Freeform, Truth, Unexpected Friendship, Uthgardt, Warrior - Freeform, Witches, Wizard, badger - Freeform, barbarian, cleric, druid, moon elf, mystra, priestess - Freeform, rogue - Freeform, shadow weave, silvanus, virgins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 05:25:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7702396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BATTLEFAIRIES/pseuds/BATTLEFAIRIES, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnippetsRUs/pseuds/SnippetsRUs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marek and Hulda are safe and Pooky is off to Hell somewhere. Rhyl'lyn is wandering about still and Zan is dead. Or is that the case with our flamboyant Thayan? Will the powerful magic of a druid and the will of Silvanus, god of the Woodlands, bring about a different scenario? If so, what will the result be?</p><p>While light-hearted and humourous, this is a story that shows very well the terrible consequences of misinformation and lies. Witness as they're unravelled and leave an otherwise certain character questioning everything he's ever learned. While trying not to catch fleas, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fiery Fury of the Fighting Furry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last we left off, Marek found a new life in Silverymoon with a loyal friend in Hulda, Rhyl'lyn's eyebrows went missing and Pinky was returned to the Moon Witch. All is well, except of course that Zan is off somewhere, missing. Who knows, maybe he'll find Rhyl'lyn's eyebrows? All missing things know each other, don't you know? Missing things community.

_**Previously, in the Motley Mayhem series...** _  
  
_Zan woke._  
  
_He turned onto his other side and tried to recall the dream he had – he'd dreamed about dying. 'So that's what that's like', he remembered thinking. He rolled onto his back and let the light of the morning sun filter through his eyelashes. He decided he'd keep lying there, pretending to sleep, and wait for the sounds of breakfast being made by his Knight and Hulda._  
  
_Nothing of the sort reached his ears though, and he carefully stole a glance to see if they were even there._  
  
_They weren't._  
  
_He didn't recall going to sleep in the middle of a patch of fern, either, and no signs of a campfire were to be seen. At arm's length, where his staff ought have been, there were only toadstools – or were there? Half-covered with moss was a glimmer of gold, and when Zan groped for the half-molten head of his precious staff, he noticed his hand had changed into a paw of sorts._  
  
_He wanted to yell, but he heard a wheezing sound instead – “Kossuth's ire,” he'd have said, “...this isn't happening!” but no real words were forthcoming._  
  
_In a fit of hisses and squeaks, he turned around and about to figure out what it was he'd turned into, and after eliminating skunk, raccoon and ferret, settled on badger._  
  
_“Terrific – I'm the stuff paintbrushes are made of,” Zan thought as he flopped down on his belly. Suddenly, he felt uncomfortable barefoot, and the air on his fur was chilly. It bothered him immensely that he wasn't taller than most of the plants around him, and he realised that if he wanted to pick up the remainder of his staff, he'd have to do so with his teeth._  
  
_Angry for being treated like that – by whom, anyway? - he bundled up his magic, and shaping the energies without words or gestures, set fire to a tree._  
  
_“At least I've still got that to go with,” he mused as he watched the bark split and pop in the flames._  
  
_Zan knew coming back as an animal required magic, and that meant someone was responsible._  
  
_And that someone would know the price for turning a Red Wizard circle leader into a furry forest critter – as true a fact as his tail wagging in delight at the prospect of vengeance..._

 

* * *

 

In another part of the woods, Kraego Mosswalker listened carefully to what Jotunn had to tell him. His avian friend, at his bidding, told his story twice as Kraego couldn't make sense of it.  
  
”Are you sure?” he asked the tall owl on his wrist. Jotunn's incredible eight-and-a-half pounds weighed heavily whenever he sat there, so the druid propped up a leg and rested his arm on his knee. “You're telling me that a _badger_ is setting fire to the forest?”  
  
He only received a ruffling of the owl's chest feathers for an answer – clearly the old bird was crabby for not being believed right away.  
  
“Fine, I'll go have a look myself. Meanwhile, catch us something for dinner, if you please.”  
  
The owl hooted and left, scattering dry leaves as he beat his powerful wings. Kraego rose with a weary grunt. His latest ritual had been taxing, and listening to the ancient songs of old trees helped him with his meditations. If his companion was right, however, it could signify that something had gone amiss when he sought to restore life to the burned land. Maybe the foul magic still lingered?  
  
He picked up his staff and his bow of antler, and for a pause called on the soul of the earth beneath his feet to give him direction, and guide his steps.  
  
Already he could smell the scent of wood burning.  
  
If this was indeed magic at play, the one responsible would feel a druid's rightful wrath for disturbing the delicate balance of the forest...

 

* * *

 

Kraego found the perpetrator easily enough. It was indeed a badger, and not even a really big one. It was probably a critter returned from the afterlife when Kraego had woven his mighty ritual of restoration to repopulate the area. The fact that it could set fire to trees and shrubs by looking at them was unexpected, however, and Kraego left the tree he'd used to travel to and observe the animal to interrogate it.  
  
The badger flinched, and scooted back on its hunches at the sight of a seven-foot-tall half-orc staring him down. Kraego used soothing magic and drew a spell from his staff to enable conversation in the tongue of animals. But the badger's words were misshapen and confused – a sign that this creature was an anomaly in more ways than one, and perhaps not even an animal at all. Lingering fiendishness might have corrupted it beyond hope for betterment, and Kraego laid his bow ready beside him as he knelt onto the forest floor.  
  
”Why do you set ablaze the forest that I restored to life?” Kraego asked of the badger. “I do not take kindly to my handiwork, and my home, to be damaged like this.”  
  
Understanding washed over the badger's face at the sound of these words, and he – it was a male – bared his teeth. If the soothing spell had any effect at all when Kraego cast it, it had now evaporated completely – the badger couldn't possibly be more enraged.  
  
Batting the thing away with the bottom of his staff as he went for his throat, Kraego heard him cuss and curse in his strange and crooked tongue when he struggled to get on his feet again in the bramble-patch he now found himself in.  
  
”So it's me you were after,” Kraego guessed, and groped for the animal's scruff, lifting him up full seven feet off the ground. He channelled more magic, and infused the kicking and squeaking badger with a rare and precious spell. “You have been given the gift of Speech. Speak, badger,” he commanded, and hoped the effort wouldn't be wasted on the wretch.  
  
”Put me down and I'll offer you the gift of my teeth in your calves!” the animal fumed, talking and threatening as if he'd been doing so all his life.  
  
”You were human,” Kraego observed. He eyed the tiny fires left and right. “A magic-user, I presume.”  
  
”And I should still be!” the badger squealed. “I'm a wizard, an esteemed member of my community and a paragon of intellect and style! I have titles! I don't deserve this!” His beady eyes bore into Kraego's, and he felt the heat of conjured flames playing around him but, thanks to his protecting magic, he remained unscathed. This wizard really was mad with anger to think Kraego hadn't come prepared for a bit of fire.  
  
”Now now – badgers are noble animals, and one of my personal favourites,” Kraego chided him.  
  
”I'm going to end up someone's favourite muff,” the dangling creature whimpered.  
  
”Not necessarily,” Kraego said, and put the animal down. “I cannot undo the spell that brought you back from the dead in the shape you are currently in...” The badger flashed his teeth again at this, but Kraego continued: “...but in the event of your demise, I may cast it again, and perhaps that time your new form will match your original one. Tell me, how many creatures in this forest did you kill since you started the fires?”  
  
The badger's eyes shot left and right, as if he was pondering on the necessity of telling the truth.  
  
”...I ate a squirrel?” he said on the tone of a question, probably hoping to read Kraego's expression to see if that was a bad thing.  
  
”A badger's got to eat,” he reassured the critter. “...Now about the rest – how many?”  
  
The badger's face fell.  
  
”Two owls and a doe,” he admitted. Kraego frowned. He liked owls, damn it.  
  
”And did you eat any of those?” He received a negative from the badger. “Then you will die three times, and three times will I come find you and cast my spell on you so you can come back. If you turn human again before then, you'll be in luck. If not...”  
  
”I get it,” the badger grumpily said. “A gamble, which I feel I must make. How are my chances to come back as my old self?”  
  
Kraego the Mosswalker shrugged. ”Reasonable.”  
  
“How long has it been since I died- I mean since the forest burned down?”  
  
“A tenday,” the half-orc remarked. An unhappy look came to the badger's face, but to his credit he quickly recovered.  
  
The badger grew silent for a while, seemingly pondering his options. "So whenever, wherever I meet an untimely death, you will come to restore my life?"  
  
"That is correct," the druid replied, "though I would ask that you don't go to too many places at once, as some have no room for nature." He saw the creature's mouth grow wider all the same, ending in a strange, animalistic parody of a smirk. It made him wonder if he'd made the right decision after all.  
  
"Never fear, I have only one place in mind." Looking pleased beyond measure, the badger uttered a single word and disappeared. A nagging suspicion ate away at the half-orc.

 

* * *

 

Zan couldn't actually teleport far into Rashemen, of course. He'd been there a few times on war business, but the witches made magical teleportation into or in their land notoriously difficult for anyone not of their order. A diviner named Nadia had found some means of doing it, and he'd read her thesis on the topic. There were only a rare, few places that allowed for it, and the foreigner wishing to teleport had to have been to one of them in order to teleport there. Fortunately he had – the forest south-west of Lake Tirulag, to be specific.  
  
Wandering around in his badger form, he noticed that the spirits, who would ordinarily attack him on sight, let him be. He was tempted to light a fire up their asses, but that would probably discourage the half-orc from reincarnating him, despite the deal they'd made. No, his quarry was something else entirely, and it didn't take long before the sound of female voices reached his ears.  
  
The ones ignorant of the wilds of Rashemen would argue that it could just be Rashemi civilians, but Zan knew better. Rashemi women could be hunters, athletes, warriors and even berserkers, and while those were annoying enough, there was another type of Rashemi female that the spellcasting badger was hunting with destructive glee.  
  
Witches.  
  
It was a brilliant plan in his mind, one that he mentally applauded himself for. The Rashemi, especially the witches, bragged about living in accordance with the land and its spirits, and so a badger wouldn't seem even remotely out of place, especially in a wild place like this. He'd be able to move into position for the casting of a particularly nasty spell before any of the witches could say "kablooey". They'd probably murder him on the spot, but he'd take out several of them before he died.  
  
He found them sitting around a campfire on a bright morning, masks on their faces and completely unsuspecting. They laughed, told jokes about Thayans and enjoyed a morning feast of roasted fowl and cooked greens. If he survived, Zan decided, he'd munch on their breakfast next. Willing a few spell shields in place, just to improve his chances, he then stepped out of the bushes.  
  
His plan worked well. None of the witches seemed bothered by the presence of a badger. In fact, none of them seemed to pay him any heed at all. He wagged his tail like a dog, so delighted at the prospect of killing the women that he didn't even stop to think that his behaviour was terribly un-badger-like. If he'd paid attention, he would have noticed how the rest of the forest animals were nowhere to be seen. It wasn't until he walked past a brown-haired witch with a green-blue mask resting on the side of her head that suspicion kicked in.  
  
The woman picked him up by his neck and held him out at arm's length. Zan immediately began thrashing around in her grip and made badger noises that he hoped would come off as endearing. When he saw the cold look in the witch's eyes, however, he froze. Had she seen through him? No, this wasn't a magical transformation, but a genuine reincarnation. Why, then, was she treating him this way? They already had their breakfast. Were they in short supply of earmuffs?  
  
"What's that you've got there, Grusha?" one of the other witches asked.  
  
"A very friendly badger," the brunette replied, "almost stupidly so. You'd think an animal would know better than to approach our camp."  
  
Alarm grew in the eyes of the witches gathered, their bodies tensing up. Normally, Zan would have attacked at this point, if nothing else but to free himself, but the way the witches acted made him curious.  
  
"Could it be a magical transformation?" a young, blonde witch asked, her eyes darting left and right. "Are the witches onto us?"  
  
Now that was doubly confusing – why would witches worry about other witches being onto them? Did Rashemen sport more than one order?  
  
"Calm yourselves," an equally blonde, but older witch with a cleavage in her shirt that left little to the imagination, cut in, flashing the younger one a glare. Zan found himself staring at that cleavage a little longer than he meant to. "It's not uncommon for forest animals to approach even the likes of us."  
  
"So what are you suggesting, Zhenya?" Grusha asked, her cloak opening as she put her hand on her hip. The badger noticed she had a disturbingly attractive cleavage, too. "Make some more slippers?" Zan started thrashing around once more. If only the other witches would move closer, he could take them all out. As it was now, he'd just get to Grusha and the young blonde. "Now that's a smart badger."  
  
"You're holding him in a vice grip by the neck and your tone of voice is perfectly chilling," Zhenya pointed out, "of course he'd struggle."  
  
"Pardon me for not knowing the ways of animals as well as you," Grusha countered, "being spoiled on my training among hathrans rather than running around the wilds like some barbaric beast." Zhenya glared, making Grusha's smirk widen.  
  
"You're protected only for as long as your mother remains in power," Zhenya shot back, making Grusha's smile disappear. An awkward silence settled and Zan was reminded of Thay, when two rival zulkirs would speak out against each other in a political gathering. The resemblance was uncanny, and it made him question everything he'd ever read about Rashemen.  
  
He hadn't believed that genuine "good" existed in the world, at least not until he'd met Hulda. She'd told him how the Moon Witches were friends with the witches of Rashemen, back when she thought he was from Unther. While he knew that Hulda was an open-minded and easy-going person, he was pretty sure she wouldn't want to be friends with someone like Grusha.  
  
"All the same," said witch cut in, interrupting his thoughts, "if this really is just another badger, that means I can do whatever I want with him." The cold and indescribably evil stare she fixed him with would put the zulkir of illusion to shame. That was all the confirmation he needed. Hulda would not approve.  
  
No longer waiting for the other witches to gather, he went straight for an attack. A bolt of fire shot forth from his paws and struck Grusha right in the face. She screamed, her grip on his neck loosening. This allowed him to wriggle free and he bit her in the arm. The scent of burnt flesh filled the air, and another scream tore from her throat, though it was more like a gurgled hiss due to most of her face having burned off. This time she grabbed a dagger on her belt and blindly sought to stab the badger.  
  
Zan was one step ahead of her, however, and let go of her arm, making the descending dagger strike the spot on her arm where he'd just bitten her. He landed rather roughly on the ground as Grusha grunted in annoyance, and ran as fast as his badger legs could carry him. Next he unleashed another spell, this time a particularly nasty fireball aimed at the young blonde and the three other witches standing in close proximity to her. It connected, exploded and drew dying screams from the women in question. The smell of more burnt flesh wafted through the air, and Zan nearly rolled over on his back from how close the fire had come to singing his nose hair.  
  
Then came the retaliation. Zhenya was on her feet, weaving darkness like it was a tapestry, making the shadows bend to her will with the ease of cutting a warm knife through soft butter. Zan felt his heart leap into his throat – never before had he witnessed such magic! Not even his well-trained sensitivity to magic reacted to this, whatever it was. A bad feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. It seemed he'd bitten over more than he could chew. He was also almost completely certain that these women weren't even witches, which made this encounter all the more bitter. Was he to die without taking down even one of these blasted womenfolk?  
  
Over by the foursome of burnt witches sat Grusha, her face and arm fully healed, chanting a spell that possessed the same strange and alien power as what Zhenya had displayed. Zan felt something cold latch onto his limbs and he was unable to move. Not that such a thing could stop him from attacking, and he fired off a ray of scorching flame in Zhenya's direction. It struck true only for Zhenya to buzz out and then the woman was right in front of him, dagger raised. An illusion – an illusion that _he hadn't seen through_. Not that he was a diviner, but this was ridiculous! He should at least have known that she'd cast such a spell!  
  
There was no time to cast another fiery spell, and the dagger bore down on his small form, cutting through his fur and tearing into his flesh, drawing a pained scream. Over by Grusha, one witch was already up and about again. Had she _resurrected_ the woman? Zan would make a disgruntled whine was he not in pain already from the stab wound in his back.  
  
Before Zhenya could stab him again, however, an arrow sizzled past her face and landed in the ground for Zan to admire. The thing bore a striking resemblance to the arrows used by the Eldreth Veluuthra.  
  
Zhenya looked away from Zan for a second, but the badger couldn't muster the strength to cast another spell at this point. His vision began to blur, and while he registered her hiss and the ensuing "The hathrans are upon us! Flee, Grusha!", sounds, smells and sights soon mixed together. Somewhere he registered a witch's scream and then strong arms picked him up. Someone touched his back and a warm, soothing sensation emanated from that hand. Zan felt the pain disappear and the next thing he knew, he was looking up at a young woman with black hair and a white mask with red markings. He immediately fired a dangerous fire spell at her – the last of his arsenal – but other than draw a surprised look from the witch, it had no effect. Flames turned into flickering cinders, dispersing into the wind without even making her flinch. She frowned at him, but at this point Zan was at a loss. He tried lunging for her throat, but the paralysation spell still held him in check. The strong hands that held him grabbed him by the neck and raised him up in the air very much the same way Grusha had, thus affording him a full view of his captor. It was a tall, male Rashemi berserker, large enough to put any Uthgardt man to shame.  
  
"This has to be the first time I've come across a fire-wielding badger," the witch observed, though she looked more amused than worried. "Mind telling us who you are?"  
  
Zan huffed. "You expect a badger to talk?”  
  
The Rashemi pair chorused. "Yes."  
  
"How such low-brained monkey thinking manages to keep this country together I will never understand," he grumbled, borrowing the Odesseiron family's favourite method of insulting people. In response, he was pulled further up until he came face to face with an unamused berserker.  
  
"Are you insulting my wychlaran?" His eyes had narrowed into what he probably thought was an intimidating gaze. Zan had seen worse.  
  
"I _attacked_ her, you bumbling buffoon!" the badger shot back, though he refrained from informing the man that it had been his last spell. If he could bluff himself out of this one, he was one step closer to killing witches.  
  
"Don't worry, brother," the witch cut in. "He's out of spells. It seems the fire he threw at me was his last one." Zan didn't appreciate how much she'd found out about him in such a short time. "I know not what magic holds his limbs locked, but it clearly doesn't stop his tongue from moving. As for your attack, we're willing to forgive you, seeing as you killed three durthans this day."  
  
"Yeah, well-," Zan began, but stopped his train of thought, "durthans?"  
  
The witch nodded. "Evil witches seeking to overthrow us and, given time, launch invasions into neighbouring lands." Zan would have blinked if he hadn't been paralysed.  
  
"Not to mention they'd treat us warriors the same way zulkirs treat their knights," Marcus added. Zan thought to object, but remembered the looks that Zhenya and Grusha had shared, and decided it wasn't a far-off observation.  
  
"Their short-sighted thinking would get us all killed," the witch finished, "and that is why we count them as our enemies."  
  
There were some things Zan wasn't convinced of. "Wouldn't you seek to invade neighbouring countries anyway? Especially with the kind of power you command. You could whip up a spirit army in no time!"  
  
An awkward silence settled. The witch and berserker sent the badger incredulous looks before they looked at each other. A split second later they burst out laughing.


	2. There's Witches and then there's Witches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations abound! Zan gets to meet Rashemi people up close and his illusions are shattered. It turns out that there's a huge discrepancy between what Thayans are told about Rashemi and what the Rashemi are actually like. Who'd have thought? Then again, the evidence has been pointing to the Thayans being wrong all along. Not that evidence matters where feelings are concerned, and if feelings say "go to war" then they're obviously right.

It was a most disgruntled Zan that lay on top of a berserker's shoulder, his eyes staring at the much shorter, black-haired witch as they walked through the woods. The magical paralysis still held him in place, and his butt was currently pointing in the opposite direction of where the wind blew. It struck him in the most sensitive spot on his small, furry body and sent dreadful shivers down his spine. Naturally it didn't help that the berserker was so tall.  
  
"I take it you were the one to heal me?" he asked the witch, who merely nodded in response. "What god do I owe thanks to, then?"  
  
"The Three," she replied unhelpfully.  
  
"What three?" he pressed. "The Triad of Torm, Tyr and Ilmater?"  
  
"The Triune Goddess," she clarified. Zan felt even more mystified than before.  
  
"Who?" he let his voice rise several octaves. "Is she one or three?"  
  
"Both," the witch shot back. If his badger face wasn't frozen, he'd openly glare at her.  
  
"You're not helping," he grumbled.  
  
"And you're not answering any of my questions," she shot back. "Tell me your name, and I'll tell you the name of the goddess I serve."  
  
Zan felt a stubborn streak crawl up his furry back. "What if I lie?"  
  
"I don't recommend it," she replied. "It holds the death penalty."  
  
His eyes would have grown wide, but again the magic restricted such movement. "What if I want to die?"  
  
The Rashemi pair stopped dead in their tracks, and the concerned look on the witch's face was almost comical. Zan didn't get the chance to enjoy it for long, however, as the berserker pulled him off his shoulder and stared at him. "Are you serious?"  
  
"Why would you want that?" the witch asked as she stepped up next to the tall man.  
  
"That's two questions for one," the badger tried, "hardly fair."  
  
"Answer my wychlaran's question, then," the berserker insisted. Both Rashemi looked at him expectantly.  
  
"What?" Zan huffed in indignation. "I asked first!"  
  
"Mystra," she said before the berserker could object. The badger felt an uncomfortable stab in the pit of his stomach – Mystra's Chosen had for a long time been a thorn in the side for the Red Wizards. He didn't like being indebted to such a deity.  
  
"I made a deal with the druid who reincarnated me into this body," Zan began, "and he said I would get three attempts at becoming human again."  
  
A heavy silence settled, only to be broken by the wychlaran. "How about we do some introductions?" Both Rashemi looked at Zan expectantly. Being paralysed, out of spells and held in the large hands of a berserker, the badger saw little reason to argue. "My name is Vanya, and this is my foster brother and berserker guardian, Marcus."  
  
While the death penalty seemed tempting, the badger had a feeling the witch wouldn't be so eager to indulge him now that she knew he desired it. "My name is Zan." He left it at that. If they were even slightly above monkey level in intellect, they'd be able to piece things together on their own.  
  
The witch didn't disappoint. "You're a Red Wizard." Zan didn't reply. Not that he needed to, the signs were obvious. First he threw a fire spell at the witch's face – after she saved his life, no less – his name was distinctly Thayan and his behaviour even more so. He fully expected them to dump him somewhere. After all, he'd been disrespectful in attitude, he was an enemy of the entire nation, spirits included, and he was a small, furry creature, magically paralysed and completely defenceless. Much to his surprise, the Rashemi did neither. All the witch did, in fact, was smile wryly. "I almost wish more of you were badgers. You're much more endearing that way." Then she continued along the path, her berserker quietly placing Zan on his shoulder once more as he followed.  
  
"Where are you taking me?" he demanded more than asked, but it was a question all the same.  
  
"To see the hathran in charge of me," Vanya replied, "as spellcasting badgers, especially a reincarnated Red Wizard, is no ordinary sight here. What's your last name?"  
  
Zan hesitated slightly before answering. "Kuras. What will happen to me?"  
  
"Well, strictly speaking, you're a badger," Vanya explained. "Also, considering your situation and the fact that you killed three durthans, my mentor might be able to persuade the other witches to offer you a painless death as a reward. After we contact the druid you made a deal with so he can come and reincarnate you afterwards, of course. What spell school do you represent?"  
  
"Evocation," he growled, not happy with how much this witch knew about his order. "Why such a generous offer?"  
  
"No wonder you're such a grouch," she observed. "As for your question, it can be either a reward for killing three durthans or punishment for attacking, insulting and disrespecting a wychlaran. Take your pick."  
  
"The reward sounds less painful," he remarked dryly, not even bothering to comment on the grouch part.  
  
"Good choice," she cooed, and he was almost certain she was teasing him. A heavy silence followed. Was the witch out of questions already? Surely she didn't find him _that_ uninteresting. Did she? Anger and resentment began to bubble up inside him, which slowly eroded away the paralysation spell that prevented him from clawing the berserker's eyes out. His claws twitched and he considered his options. The witch would probably slay him before he got close, but he could hurt her precious berserker something fierce. "Are you familiar with Aznar Thrul?"  
  
That question threw him completely off guard. It was one thing for a witch from this backwater country to know some basic things about Red Wizards, another to know the name of a zulkir. He completely forgot what he was doing and ended up thrashing around instead. Noticing this, Marcus placed him on the ground where Zan looked up at them both with frightened eyes. All Vanya did was smile a strangely happy smile, however.  
  
"Good, you can walk on your own now," she observed. "If you get tired, let us know and Marcus will carry you again." Without waiting to see if he'd follow, the pair moved on. Zan glared after them and stuck his tongue out before moving off elsewhere. As if he'd follow Rashemi people anywhere – he'd be suicidal to do that. Instead he walked off into the bushes, managed to reach the other side of it, and came face to face with an ugly, two-headed troll.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Zan was hoisted high up into the air, held in a vice grip, but fortunately not enough to crush him – yet – and became the unwilling audience of two troll heads arguing with each other over who got to eat the badger. The troll stink hit Zan's nostrils and made him sick – the grip on his stomach did the rest and up came the squirrel he ate that morning. That drew the troll's attention, and funnily enough the thing whined about getting vomit on his hand. As if that would make a difference to the creature's body odour. Zan was tossed violently into the brush, where his small body took more damage than was healthy for a critter his size, and he barely registered the other troll head chastising the first for throwing away their food. Then came the approaching footsteps – like thunder, except they made the ground shake and birds flee their nests in terror rather than the sky go dark. Zan tried to move, but his body wouldn't obey, and the cracking sound his bones made could not be good. He felt doubly like a fool now – first he'd wasted his spells on evil witches who'd nearly murdered him, and then he'd abandoned the one and only offer of a merciful death someone like him was likely to get in this country. Not that Vanya's offer of goodwill was any guarantee for how the other witches would react to him, but it was definitely preferable to being eaten alive!  
  
As if his thoughts had somehow magically summoned aid, a tall, dark figure rammed into the troll from behind, weapons leading. At first he hoped it was Marek, but the figure was taller, broader, and wielded twin axes. Marcus the berserker was throwing himself at a fell troll for the sake of a Red Wizard. Zan sensed the irony, and under normal circumstances he'd laugh at the warrior, but right now he was too injured and terrified to care. Chanting in a female voice could be heard, further adding to the joke. Or humiliation. Yes, it was definitely humiliating for someone like him to be rescued by a witch and her berserker two times in the same day. Provided they could even rescue him. That troll was nasty, even as far as trolls went.  
  
Marcus was far from a simpleton, however, and his rage was not the unthinking frenzy that sometimes made a warrior unable to tell the difference between friend and foe. He fought with persistence and ferocity, despite how his weapons wouldn't help against a troll anyway. Vanya's spells, on the other hand, should be far more effective. First she conjured magical spider web in which to trap the troll, and then summoned a spirit to harass it. Zan blinked, confused. Why didn't she just incinerate the thing? Trolls were particularly weak against fire and acid – in fact, they were the only means with which to prevent them from regenerating lost limbs. Well, some poisons helped, too, but he doubted the Rashemi dabbled in that. With the troll trapped, Marcus rushed past the creature, heading straight for Zan. He scooped the injured animal up into his arms, his hands surprisingly gentle despite their size, and ran back to Vanya, who turned and ran as well. Before Zan could comment on their questionable tactics, the witch cast another spell, one that Zan himself had used earlier that day, and the next thing they knew, they stood at the edge of the forest and came face to face with a very confused-looking, red-headed witch.  
  
Again Vanya placed her hand on Zan's furry back, and again he was healed. "You could just end my suffering with a dagger thrust," he remarked, glancing in the ginger's direction to gauge her reaction, but just like her two fellow countrymen, she showed no surprise upon hearing an animal speak a human language.  
  
"I offered you a painless death," Vanya shot back, "and I stand by it, even though I need a hathran's approval."  
  
"What's a hathran?" Zan couldn't help but ask. All these different names and titles were bloody confusing. At least in Thay it was enough with "Red Wizard", "circle leader" and "zulkir". "Also, why didn't you use fire or acid on the troll?"  
  
"He's quite chatty," the redhead observed, to which Vanya nodded. Zan glared, not appreciating how they were ignoring his question.  
  
"Paloma, meet Zan Kuras of Thay," Vanya gestured to the badger. Again the redhead seemed completely unsurprised and even offered the forest critter a polite nod. It seemed the report on the Rashemi being utterly crazy was very much true. "Zan Kuras, meet Paloma, my hathran mentor."  
  
"How do you do," Zan remarked sarcastically and stretched out a clawed paw. Instead of taking offence, however, Paloma took that paw in her hand and shook it as if she was greeting a normal human. He blinked, starting to see a connection between mentor and apprentice.  
  
"It's not every day a Red Wizard comes to visit us in such a charming form," Paloma remarked.  
  
Zan's paw froze. "I never said I was a Red Wizard."  
  
"Nor did Vanya,” Paloma agreed and smiled enigmatically. "A badger is a suitable form for a grouchy evoker, though seeing as Vanya is talking about killing you, and in a merciful fashion at that, you must have really impressed her."  
  
"If, by setting three durthans on fire," Zan replied, "then yes, I impressed her."  
  
"Were they using their strange, dark magic?" Paloma asked, seemingly undisturbed by the mental image of a badger burning people.  
  
"I wouldn't know," the badger shot back uncomfortably, not wanting to be reminded of that particular part. "It all seemed disturbingly mundane to me, even though I knew it wasn't."  
  
Paloma nodded. "Then that is impressive, indeed, especially since the durthans, apart from their dark magic, draw upon the same powers as we."  
  
"Are you saying they're more powerful than you?" For some unknown reason this didn't sit well with him.  
  
"They have an advantage over us that we don't care for," Paloma replied, though the hesitation on her face spoke volumes. "An advantage over Red Wizards, too, I imagine." Zan didn't comment on that, but his experience with Zhenya and Grusha was one he didn't care to repeat. At least not without Marek, a whole circle of evokers and priests of Kossuth to annihilate the bitches completely. "I believe it's possible to figure it out. When I was in Waterdeep, I met Selûnite scholars seeking to learn circle magic – I was among those who taught it to them, in fact, and they ended up calling themselves Moon Witches – and they spoke of something called The Shadow Weave."  
  
Zan's understanding of the friendship between Moon Witches and the Witches of Rashemen gained a whole new dimension.  
  
"All the same," Vanya cut in, "I do believe this badger's reward is long overdue."  
  
"A merciful death for a Red Wizard is going to be hard to convince the others to perform," Paloma warned, "especially since you're the one asking, Vanya."  
  
Zan's ears perked up.  
  
"I've won over several sceptics already," Vanya argued optimistically.  
  
"But many still remain," Paloma countered, "especially among the othlors. Don't forget it was they who ordered me to be brutal with you on your final test. If they say no, there is nothing either of us can do."  
  
Zan drew a quick mental equation between othlors and zulkirs in terms of authority for easy reference in order to form a diplomatic strategy. He then squirmed to escape the berserker's grasp. To his credit, Marcus noticed quickly and even placed him gently on the ground. The badger made a mental note to give him a quick death should they ever meet on the battlefield, and approached Paloma on steady badger steps. She flipped her spear out in the blink of an eye, however, its head coming to rest right in front of his nose.  
  
"He's out of spells," Vanya intervened and the spear was withdrawn. Once again Zan found he owed his life to a witch.  
  
"If I am permitted to speak for myself in a gathering of witches," he began, "I do believe I have a clear-cut strategy that can work well with your leaders. Usually it's applied to zulkirs, but apart from their disposition, I've found that people in power are very much the same." The fact that he'd just compared their highest-ranking members to zulkirs didn't seem to offend the two witches at all, strangely enough. Feeling encouraged by this, he continued. "Sometimes, _how_ you present your case is just as important as the actual case you're presenting."  
  
"You will be permitted to argue your case in the gathering," Paloma informed him, "but keep in mind these are very old and bitter women who like your people as much as they do a blight or a bad rash. Certain rules must be observed."  
  
"Such as?" the badger asked, finding it increasingly difficult to crane his neck to look at the women in question. Noticing this, Paloma crouched down in front of him.  
  
"An opening speech about why we're there," Paloma explained. Vanya left, though to where the badger didn't know, "which will be my job. Then Vanya will explain more in detail and after that is when you get to present your case. Marcus might be called upon to witness as well, if there's a need to."  
  
"Is all of that really necessary just to kill one Red Wizard?" Zan pressed. This was taking a lot longer than he'd hoped for.  
  
"Mercifully, yes," Paloma replied, taking a seat on the ground, "though no wychlaran will resort to animal abuse. Such is the way of the durthans, which I'm sure you got to see first hand." Zan grumbled his agreement. "Some will probably insist on a dagger thrust, which will cause you pain, even if it is quick. Before, for foreigners who earned the death penalty, a spell to induce slumber was cast upon them and was followed up by the aforementioned method. Vanya came up with an idea to do both, a spell that lets you die in your sleep, as if dying of old age, only that you can be reincarnated or resurrected afterwards. However, it's the equivalent of summoning a great spirit and requires a circle in order to perform. That's why we need to have a gathering for it, especially considering that you were once a Red Wizard."  
  
"Why would she go to the trouble of creating such an option if it requires so much power?" Zan asked.  
  
"Because she's always been a gentle soul," Paloma replied, "ever since she was little. She can't stand the sight of someone suffering, whether people or animals."  
  
"Not even Thayans?" he pressed.  
  
"Not even Thayans," Paloma echoed.  
  
Zan still didn't like witches, but his opinion of Vanya was improving fast. In some ways he saw a bit of Hulda in her, apart from the clumsiness and striking talent for unintentional mayhem. The black-haired witch and her berserker returned shortly after with firewood and two bowls, one which contained water and the other a mix of roots and berries, recently cleaned from the looks of it. His stomach growling loudly with hunger, Zan tossed aside all notions of social etiquette and attacked the food with abandon. Marcus got a fire going and they set to cooking a meal for themselves. The scent of roasted fowl wafted in the badger's general direction, and the pleading look he sent the Rashemi was so heart-breaking they tossed him not only one, but two deliciously cooked birds. Unlike the roots and berries, Zan savoured the taste of these. His little badger stomach was quickly full, however, and he ended up burping and rolling over on his back in contentment – he even let Marcus scratch him a little.  
  
"It's done," Paloma declared, though what she was talking about Zan had no idea. He'd been too engrossed in his food to notice her doing anything out of the ordinary. "I contacted several othlors, the few I know that are neutral to Vanya, as well as a few supporters, such as the Oracle, Sheva and lady Yhelbruna. Nythra of the Seven Rivers will also come." Zan burped again. "We'll have our gathering some time tomorrow – it's already getting late, and we should get some rest." She flashed Zan a smile, but then grew serious. "Durthans aside, don't stray far from camp, not even to relieve yourself. Many monsters lurk in Rashemen's darkness and would gladly prey upon all of us."  
  
"I will take first watch," Marcus offered between bites.  
  
"Beware the hags, then, brother," Vanya advised as Paloma helped herself to the remaining birds. "They've become more active these past few years."  
  
Zan's head rolled over to the side. "Hags?"  
  
"Rashemen is full of them," Vanya explained, "but normally they keep to themselves unless they come across a stray man to seduce and later devour." The badger's eyes inadvertently went to the berserker, a look that none of the Rashemi missed.  
  
He rolled over on his stomach. "I'll take first watch, too. Someone needs to keep this big ape from getting us all killed." His voice was suitably grouchy and his words holding every intention of insulting the warrior and thereby deflecting questions or remarks about him being worried. "Besides, as a badger I can take naps in the afternoon without anyone questioning it."  
  
Instead of looking offended, however, Marcus smiled. "I feel reassured by having a noble badger by my side." Zan blinked. The druid had called badgers noble too. He decided to read what he could about forest creatures once he was human and back in Thay. "Don't let us stop you if you wish to take a nap right now. It should be at least three more hours before the sun sets, and I'll be sure to wake you when the time comes."  
  
Feeling the fatigue of the day in his limbs, Zan didn't argue. "Don't mind if I do," he grumbled and lay down in the position that seemed most reasonable for a badger to sleep in – his hind legs tucked in under him and his head resting on his front paws. Then he closed his eyes and drifted off into a world of dreams about roasted fowl and equally roasted durthans.


	3. Zan the Curious Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Political propaganda is the reason why we can't have nice things. How will Zan deal with his cognitive dissonance and why is the berserker getting naked in the middle of the woods?

By the time Marcus woke Zan it was dark, the campfire burned brightly and the two witches were fast asleep. Zan momentarily pondered rolling a burning log on top of Vanya, but remembered that she was magically protected from fire, and settled for tending his own hygiene concerns. After relieving himself near a bush, he approached the warrior.  
  
"So, berserker," he began, thinking it a step up from "monkey" and "buffoon", especially since he still couldn't quite remember his name, "where's the basin?"  
  
Marcus blinked. "The what?"  
  
"You know, for washing," Zan clarified. He'd expected this much barbarism from a Rashemi.  
  
"Inside the first house we'll come across," the berserker said with a vaguely amused expression.  
  
"Great," Zan shot back, "now which direction is that?"  
  
"We're not leaving the campfire," the warrior said resolutely, and with such finality that the badger was taken aback.  
  
"Why not?" Zan felt irritation bubble up inside him. Who was this warrior to speak to him in such a way?  
  
"Hathran's orders," Marcus shot back.  
  
Zan rolled his eyes. "Sure! I'll be a good pup and listen to my master's every command! Arf! Arf!" He then started wagging his tail and acted more like a dog than a badger. "I'm a Red Wizard," he sneered, "I don't take orders from witches!"  
  
Marcus' eyes grew dark. "Then you're every bit as ungrateful to your hosts as your order's reputation suggests."  
  
Zan grumbled something about Rashemi that would ordinarily not be heard in civilised conversation. Marcus just shook his head. Frustrated even further, Zan placed his front paws on Marcus' knee and leaned in until their faces were but mere inches apart. "If you think you can do me favours I didn't ask for, and then expect me to pay for them with my independence and free will, you're the exact monkey _your_ reputation suggests!"  
  
A silent staring competition broke out between them. That the warrior was willing to meet his gaze was impressive, but Zan was still angry. "Do you really want to risk being eaten by a hag, uthraki or a troll _just_ for the sake of an early bath?" Marcus' gaze went from harsh to exasperated. "You still need five more hours of rest in order to regain your spells, too."  
  
The badger opened his mouth to retaliate on the getting eaten part, but when the berserker displayed such knowledge of wizards and sorcerers, his eyes grew wide enough to match his mouth. This was clearly no simpleton, unlike so many other warriors across Faerûn. His witch had at least taught him the basics, as he, too, had with Marek. A most unwanted sense of respect grew inside him for Vanya, and even a bit for Marcus. Then there was the fact that Marcus was, annoyingly enough, correct. Zan didn't want to get eaten alive or brutally murdered. At least not when he had an option of a merciful death, however slim that was. Try as he might, he couldn't find a way to win this argument. Not without sounding like a complete idiot, anyway, and there were enough people like that in the world already!  
  
"No," he finally replied and lowered himself on his front paws. It wasn't an easy thing to admit defeat in a verbal exchange with a warrior – and a _berserker_ at that. Zan lay down in a position similar to before, feeling defeated. "How on earth can you live in this country when it's so full of dangers?"  
  
Much to his surprise, Marcus didn't take offence, but instead remained perfectly calm. "Why are you Thayans so obsessed with conquering it?"  
  
"You first," Zan grumbled.  
  
Marcus smiled. "Because danger, to the Rashemi, equals beauty. That which is beautiful is inevitably dangerous, and that which is dangerous is inevitably beautiful. Unpredictability, natural, emotional reactions, irrational behaviour, all of these are the traits of Mother Rashemen, her spirits and her witches."  
  
"I'll say," the badger muttered.  
  
"But it's also the traits of the berserker," the warrior went on, "and in our country, the warrior, especially the one who loses himself to his rage, is seen as the highest and purest form of fighter and human. Yes, the witches are, strictly speaking, in charge, because pure rage will never win a battle, and strategists are needed for that exact reason. However, the leader is always a berserker, because rage is pure and has no ulterior motives. A great mind can lead a people to greater heights, and to victory in war, but it is in our opinion the simple mind that can better remain unaffected by evil. Save, of course, for enchantments." He smiled sheepishly. "Now it's your turn."  
  
It all sounded like complete and utter rubbish to Zan, apart from the words about danger and beauty, which he readily agreed to. "Because we're worried you might one day try to invade us." A long silence ensued.  
  
"That's it?" Marcus asked.  
  
"That's _my_ reason," Zan specified, surprised the berserker didn't glare at him again.  
  
"And you think the zulkirs are of the same mindset?" the warrior pressed.  
  
Zan attempted a shrug, but all that resulted in was his paws moving backwards. "Maybe. It's what they say.”  
  
Marcus accepted this with a nod. "I can't speak on behalf of Aglarond, and certainly not Mulhorand, but when in all the history of our countries has Rashemen ever attempted to invade Thay?"  
  
"Just because you haven't done it yet doesn't mean you won't," Zan snarled. Marcus' expression didn't change, however, much to the wizard's annoyance.  
  
"Do you know why a witch never goes on _dajemma_ alone?" The berserker added another piece of kindling to the fire. Zan shook his head. "Because they lose their upper hand over other spellcasters outside of Rashemen." The badger's eyes grew wide. "Even if they wanted to invade your country, which no wychlaran does, they wouldn't foolishly risk themselves like that. It would be a suicide mission."  
  
Zan wasn't convinced. "But with the spirits-"  
  
"The spirits are bound to Rashemen," Marcus interrupted, and thus Zan was thrown into yet another sea of emotional turmoil. "They can't move outside this country's borders and survive. That's why Vanya and I laughed when you suggested we could. Because the notion that we would have the means to invade other countries is, bluntly put, laughable." He seemed to be done talking, but then thought better of it and added. "The whole notion that we can somehow control the spirits of Rashemen is laughable."  
  
"But the witches summon them!" Zan interjected hotly.  
  
"By making deals with them," the berserker countered, "and giving them a damn good reason as to why they should show up in the first place, such as yet another Thayan invasion. When you attack our country, you attack _everyone_ , down to the last frog, pixie and child. You destroy _everything_ in your path and threaten _all_ of us. And now, from what I understand, it comes from a blatant _lie_ that, if you don't invade us, we'll invade you?" The disbelief on his face was fully visible even in the poor illumination of the campfire.  
  
"It's not a lie-" the badger tried.  
  
"Then you're either a fool to believe it or a liar yourself to perpetuate it," the berserker finished and got up on his feet, walking away from both the fire and the badger, clearly upset and somehow disappointed with Zan. Usually, he would have set someone on fire for calling him a fool or a liar, but considering Marcus' words about the witches' benefits to staying at home and the nature of the spirits, he was running out of arguments fast. Unless Marcus was lying – but then again, he didn't strike Zan as a typical liar. A simpleton he might not be, but he still possessed the blunt honesty for which the Rashemi were famous.  
  
Zan didn't like the position he was in, let alone these new revelations that had come upon him. If not to prevent Rashemen from invading Thay, why would he want to conquer it? He'd seen the fanatical gleam in his fellow war mages as they fought, clinging to notions such as patriotism or "finally teaching those damn Rashemi a lesson". What he'd seen of the Rashemi, however, apart from perhaps the durthans, coupled with Marcus' words, greatly contradicted with the rumours of bloodthirsty barbarians and evil witches seeking to kill all Thayans. Vanya and Marcus, whether he liked it or not, had saved his life twice already, and were offering him a painless death so he could be reincarnated, even though tradition dictated they should kill him without mercy. Of course, the half-orc would show up and reincarnate him _anyway_ , but to be given such an option from a mortal enemy wasn't something he'd imagined even in his wildest dreams.  
  
Not that he was about to become a slave to the Rashemi just because they'd shown him unexpected kindness! He'd rather stay dead and free than to be trapped in some miserable state of existence like the slaves back home.  
  
...the slaves back home. The _Rashemi_ slaves back home. Zan knew irony when it hit him, but he didn't like being at the receiving end of it. Did the Rashemi even keep slaves? He'd never heard of such a thing. Sure, it wasn't wise of him to move far from the campfire, but that was as much for his own good as it came from a desire to restrain him. Besides, if they wanted to keep him from going anywhere, they could have tied him down or magically paralysed him. His head spun and a groan escaped his lips.  
  
This was a lot to take in all at once. At least the berserker was quiet now, although the fire could use some more kindling. Zan looked up to see that Marcus was missing. He blinked. The warrior had been there just a short while ago. He looked around the camp, but all he saw were the sleeping forms of the witches. A feeling he'd never thought he'd associate with a Rashemi surfaced and latched onto him with a vice grip that would put the fell troll to shame – _concern_. That oaf hadn't walked too far from camp and become enthralled by some ugly hag under a magical disguise, had he? Had he? Zan bit down on some kindling and threw it on the fire so the only witches he knew of that weren't evil wouldn't get eaten during his absence, and stepped off into the darkness.  
  
He couldn't see anything under these circumstances, but his sense of smell guided him beautifully. Making a decision to respect animals more, especially the ones with a keen sense of smell, he wandered through brush and past trees in search of the berserker. It was in a wooded glade that he found him, his chest exposed to the chill air, but seemingly not bothered by it, standing in front of a beautiful, young woman that practically radiated magic.  
  
Zan knew how to undo such illusions, even without his spells. The best way for a woman's true colours to show was to make her angry, and hags were no doubt the same. Not wasting time, he rushed out of the bushes, headed straight for the woman and bit down on her leg before she could summon a single spell. A pained cry tore from her throat and Zan learned why badgers were so feared – no matter how much she shook her leg or tried to pull him off, he was impossible to dislodge. He began making plans to learn a spell that allowed him to transform into a badger, just so he could be a pain in the ass – quite literally – to people he didn't like.  
  
As expected, the spell wore away and revealed the hideous creature hiding behind it. Zan nearly vomited from the sight alone – if this was what Rashemen had to offer, he was almost tempted to leave it be. The sight of Marcus shaking off the enchantment and realising he'd nearly been seduced by a hag was all too rewarding. Zan grinned in spite of himself, his teeth still stuck in the hag's leg, and when Marcus noticed, it resulted in a look so surprised it was almost comical.  
  
"Get a gwip, Washemi!" he shouted through gritted teeth. "Whew's that fabuwous bewsekew stwenth of youws?"  
  
Marcus reacted immediately, punching the hag straight in the face with a blow that would make Zan wince if it hadn't been directed at something so ugly. The warrior then used this opportunity to reach for his weapons, except they were nowhere to be found.  
  
"You meft wem back at camp!" Zan informed him helpfully, and so Marcus settled for tackling the hag to the ground. This sent the badger flying, as well, although it was a short flight. Zan was happy to let go of the thing's leg, finally, and Marcus quickly scooped him up and ran as fast as he could. They could hear the hag cry out, a bone-chilling sound that not even Zan felt the courage to make fun of. His bite made her struggle to get back up, but Marcus still ran as if she was right behind them. When they finally reached the camp, it was with relieved sighs, and the warrior was kind enough to place Zan gently on the ground.  
  
"Thank you," Marcus managed to say as he sat down, two words the Red Wizard never thought he'd hear from a Rashemi, let alone a berserker. It made him feel awkward, even though common courtesy dictated that displaying gratitude for assistance given was perfectly normal. "I'd be dead without you."  
  
A lump formed in Zan's throat, and he had to cough to clear it. "You saved my life twice. I figured I should return the favour."  
  
"It's most appreciated," the warrior said with a smile so friendly it made Zan feel like a cad for not displaying more appreciation for the Rashemi's hospitality. He wasn't terribly good with kind words, however, let alone dealing with genuine benevolence, so instead he mumbled something about needing more sleep and lay down close to the warrior. Marcus had a look of understanding in his eyes – he certainly understood more than Zan expected him to – and kept the badger company until it was time for a guard change.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Nobody woke him specifically, but he stirred on his own when he heard Vanya sitting down on the tree log that Marcus had sat on when Zan fell asleep. The badger yawned and noticed the berserker lay a bit too far away from the campfire.  
  
"Why is he sleeping so far from the flames when there are hags about?" he asked Vanya, drawing her attention. She looked at Marcus and then back at Zan.  
  
"Probably to give the rest of us space," the witch observed. "He's not so far off that something will come and eat him. Still, he'll be cold like that."  
  
Zan expected Vanya not to care. He thought she'd just stick by the campfire and say something about it being Marcus' own fault for not taking her blanket or something. Therefore it was doubly surprising when she not only got up, but took her blanket, stepped up to Marcus and wrapped it around him. A mask though she wore, he was afforded one glimpse into her eyes at one point and saw nothing but warm caring, like what a mother would have for her child. A functional mother, at least. That warmth quickly and most unexpectedly turned into mischief, however, and she pinched the warrior's cheek. "Silly brother." Marcus grumbled something incoherent and rubbed his cheek, but there was no retaliation. A beautiful smile grew on Vanya's lips and she returned to her spot by the campfire. Zan stared at her as if mesmerised, completely taken aback by such a simple scene.  
  
Vanya wasn't just a great contrast to Grusha, but to everything he'd been told about the witches of Rashemen. The durthans more than lived up to it, and Zan firmly believed that the more of them were on fire, the better. Vanya, however, was something else.  
  
"Why are you showing me this much mercy?" He studied her closely for an emotional reaction, but her expression was unreadable. "You're letting me rest and replenish my spells before a meeting with a lot of powerful witches and you haven't bound, gagged or in some other way incapacitated me. You know I'm a Red Wizard. We're mortal enemies. It would be nothing I wouldn't expect."  
  
"Maybe I don't want to live up to your expectations," she replied and stirred the logs in the campfire. "Maybe I want to dispel misunderstandings rather than perpetuate them. Maybe I'm sick and tired of war and want a lasting peace with Thay that doesn't involve slavery."  
  
He snorted. "And why would a witch want a lasting peace with Thay?"  
  
"Because I'm half Thayan," she replied casually. Zan snorted again, but when she remained serious, he lost his gusto.  
  
"You're kidding me," he mumbled, but it was loud enough for her to hear, apparently, seeing as she shook her head. "But... how? No, ignore that, I know _how_!" His thoughts became a chaotic mess that he struggled for several long minutes to put together. "Were you a child of a Rashemi slave in Thay that was somehow freed during a military retaliation by your people? I can't even begin to imagine any other scenario." Thayan Knights were the epitome of Thay's warriors – kill, they would, interrogate and intimidate, most definitely, but rape was considered an act of barbaric animals. Any lesser warrior under a Knight's command committing such a sin would surely be destroyed on the spot. The slavers were another story, but overall they weren't in the habit of procreating with their captives – there was a limit to how many slaves they could feed, let alone transport.  
  
"I don't know all the details myself," she said with a sombre look on her face, "but I know it wasn't rape. Othlor Zofia revealed as much to me after I came back from my _dajemma_."  
  
Zan's head spun once more. "Are you saying a Thayan and a Rashemi _fell in love_?"  
  
She shrugged. "I don't know how much of it was love and how much was just physical release, but it's high treason on both sides."  
  
"Yet you were allowed to live," he remarked.  
  
Vanya nodded. "The othlors decided I was blameless and placed me in the care of a family of farmers. Marcus' family, to be specific. Everyone knew I was half Thayan, though."  
  
Paloma's words came back to Zan with the speed of a galloping horse under the effects of an _expeditious retreat_ spell. _Don't forget it was they who ordered me to be brutal with you on your final test_. "They", meaning othlors, which Zan had come to associate with zulkirs. "I suppose you were treated differently because of it."  
  
"I suppose I was," she shrugged again, her voice surprisingly indifferent, "but it would have been worse in Thay, no?" Her gaze met his, but there was nothing but blatant curiosity in hers.  
  
"Most likely," he admitted, a confession he didn't like making, "especially if you were the daughter of a high-ranking Red Wizard and a zulkir wanting to control said wizard found out." His mind took a break from its current path and re-winded back to one of the questions Vanya had asked him. Dread filled his small body. "Why did you ask me if I know Aznar Thrul?"  
  
She didn't answer. Zan studied her intently, but her face was void of emotion. He didn't like where this conversation was going, even though he thought the notion of a Thayan and a Rashemi falling in love was preferable to being at each other's throats. Except when it came to durthans.  
  
He didn't know Aznar Thrul personally, of course, but the very notion that he would commit high treason was laughable. No doubt Vanya had asked because her father was under Thrul's command somewhere, and she hoped the zulkir would know. Maybe she even wanted to strike up a deal with Zan, for him to go ask, seeing as she couldn't. That was probably what this whole "merciful death" thing was all about, too – putting Zan in her debt. The first time she'd saved his life was when she was under the impression that he was just a very unfortunate badger. She'd saved him the second time after confirming that he was an evoker, after all.  
  
The thought of testing her tickled his funny bone. "Because I'm afraid I don't know him, an evoker though I am. I've _seen_ him, to be sure, but a zulkir is to a common Red Wizard like me what an othlor is to a child."  
  
She nodded silently, and Zan braced himself for the onslaught. "You should get some more rest before tomorrow. If you get cold, I'm sure Marcus wouldn't mind some company." He blinked, feeling doubly confused when she followed up on those words with a smile. "You'll need all your strength in order to deal with stubborn othlors, believe me."  
  
Again he was rendered speechless. Was it some kind of Rashemi speciality or did he just have a talent for running into eloquent and absurdly kind enemies? Perhaps there was a bit of evil cunning behind her words, and she'd murder him in his sleep only to trap his soul to prevent reincarnation? She certainly seemed the type, not to mention she was half Thayan. The badger scooted away until his butt bumped into Paloma. He nearly jumped out of his skin, for that one outright scared him. His eyes scanned the campsite, but it seemed the safest place for him to be was with Marcus. Maybe there was something to a berserker's "purity" after all. He bet they were all a bunch of virgins.  
  
Rather the virgin than the witch, he concluded, and ran over to Marcus as fast as his legs could carry him. Vanya was busy feeding the campfire with more wood, and by the time she looked up it was to the sight of a Thayan badger lodged tightly under a berserker's arm, his eyes closing as he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.


	4. Time to Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dramatic chapter title appears. Zan uses diplomacy for the first time in his life. It's super effective.

Zofia and Sheva were names he was unfamiliar with, but Yhelbruna was known all across Thay. Respected by the Simbul and capable of giving Szass Tam pause, Zan found himself surprised that she was so... short. Not that he was in a position to criticise, but for such a little lady to strike fear in the greatest of all zulkirs seemed blatantly laughable. Her mask was quite something, though, he'd give her that, and he could practically taste the power radiating off of her dress and golden staff. Whoever got to inherit those things was a lucky witch. He briefly wondered if Vanya's mother was among one of these witches, but shook the notion aside. It was one thing for a Red Wizard to mate with a Rashemi woman, another with an actual witch.  
  
"What an agreeable form for a Red Wizard," Yhelbruna remarked with the same look of mischief he'd seen in Vanya only hours before. "Now, if only their zulkirs would end up this way, peace would finally come to Rashemen." Zan glared, making the deceptively young-looking witch laugh, her eyes sparkling with delight. Anyone who knew the Simbul personally was ancient, that much he knew. No doubt Yhelbruna used magic to make herself look young – a vain woman.  
  
The one named Sheva didn't seem to suffer from such silly notions, in fact she appeared to wear her wrinkles and grey hair with pride. "It's a peculiar situation, to be sure, especially considering what Vanya and Paloma told us of you beforehand." Zan looked to the two, considerably younger witches, but they offered up no explanations. "Attacking a group of durthans in a suicide project, nearly getting eaten by a fell troll because of sheer, dumb defiance, jumping in to bite a hag in the leg even though you were out of spells..." she shook her head, making Zan fully expect an insult or words about how typical Thayan that was of him, "no wonder those two can't leave you alone." Her eyes went to Vanya and Marcus, the berserker being afforded the rare honour of sitting with the witches in their gathering.  
  
"Badgers are inevitably stubborn," Vanya cut in.  
  
"But also quite charming," Marcus added.  
  
The three othlors nodded. Apart from them were three other old women carrying the same title, as well as a woman in her middle years who ranked equally with Paloma. Not a very large gathering, but they probably figured more wasn't needed for a badger. Zan agreed with such a notion – bringing a large circle in for a forest critter was just plain overkill. Not to mention it meant fewer witches for him to deal with.  
  
Vanya and Marcus were doing strange things to his emotional level, however, and that made it hard for him to concentrate on the diplomatic task ahead. The fact that diplomacy wasn't his strong point didn't exactly help matters.  
  
"So our Vanya has requested a reward for our furry enemy," the othlor named Zofia remarked, bringing them back to the topic at hand, "which is a merciful and painless death, followed up by reincarnation."  
  
"One performed by a half-orc druid from the west," Yhelbruna went on, "more specifically the recently constructed nation of the Silver Marches, which Alustriel of the Seven Sisters is the ruler of."  
  
"Kraego Mosswalker was easy enough to find," Sheva informed them all, "seeing as there are very few half-orc druids not dedicated to an orc deity. However, he is still a stranger to us, and we're not terribly fond of letting strangers teleport into our country nilly-willy."  
  
Zan bit back a retort about Nadia's thesis.  
  
"We will need a good reason to allow him to enter our lands," the woman of the same rank as Paloma clarified, though Zan had already seen that coming. "Killing three durthans is fine and all, but it could just as well have been three of us."  
  
It was as much as Zan had expected. Vanya, Paloma and Marcus were just like Red Wizard apprentices, hoping for more than they could have. He wasn't sure how a witch apprentice like Vanya could advance herself in her order, but he had a feeling assassination wasn't a part of it.  
  
"He did save Marcus from a hag," Vanya argued, having heard the tale around the breakfast fire that morning, "and kept him warm while he slept."  
  
"A bit of male bonding that might as well result in Marcus as a slave," Sheva countered. Zan was confused. This was one of Vanya's _supporters_? "Thayan notions of love are twisted by the cruelty they've been taught to inflict upon others. How do we know if Zan is any different?"  
  
Normally he would argue, but considering how his own impression of witches had been terribly askew and was only recently beginning to repair itself, he found he really wasn't in a position to criticise.  
  
"If I may," Marcus spoke up, and after getting nods of approval from the othlors, continued. "I do believe Zan, along with many other Red Wizards, has been misguided. He doesn't strike me as the type who relishes war, but Mulhorandi invasions and Thayan lifestyle have perhaps created the notion that we Rashemaar will invade Thay if they don't invade us." Every witch in the gathering scoffed at the mere suggestion, but Marcus wasn't finished. "Of course we don't. That's a short-sighted goal held only by the durthans, who have gone mad with their use of the Shadow Weave. However, to someone who is raised to see us as enemies from an early age, in a society where seizing power is the only way to freedom, what's more natural than to assume invasion as the only way to peace and safety?"  
  
Every spellcaster in the circle looked at Marcus as if they'd never quite noticed him before, apart from Vanya who merely smiled proudly up at her brother. Even Zan found himself gobsmacked by such wisdom, and in a _berserker_ of all people.  
  
"I'm not saying that he's right," Marcus continued, "and while we're not responsible for what lies are perpetuated in Thay, wouldn't it help to _act_ on the truth that we speak of? To show that we are everything we say we are?" He motioned to Zan who still stared at him, wide-eyed. "He's a badger, yes, but he can still set fire to things just by looking at them. What difference does it make if he's reincarnated as a human? Other than his teeth not being as sharp, mind you."  
  
"Not to mention his chances of being reincarnated as a human are slim," Vanya added, supplying a reasonable argument to Marcus' emotional words. "If he's reborn as something else, Marcus and I will take responsibility for him until the time comes for his next chance."  
  
"I can look after myself," Zan grumbled, but then thought better of it and added, "though I wouldn't mind the company." The grinning faces of the Rashemi siblings almost made him feel a little giddy. What on earth had he just signed up for? Then again, Hulda and Marek were dead, and he couldn't return to Thay as a badger, or any other non-human for that matter. "I'm not sure what we'll be doing in the meantime, though."  
  
"Hunting durthans?" Marcus suggested. Zan's tail wagged in excitement despite himself, which drew laughter from all the witches gathered. At first he felt offended, but when he saw that their faces were joyous rather than mocking, he calmed and even smiled a bit.  
  
"What if I become human?" he asked once the worst of the laughter had died down. Marcus and Vanya looked to the trio of othlors whose names Zan knew. They exchanged looks and, after some quiet staring, seemed to have telepathically reached a conclusion.  
  
"You will have to leave Rashemen," Yhelbruna declared, "though we will permit you to leave in peace, unharmed. I trust these terms are acceptable to you?"  
  
Zan nodded. "They are," then he added after a slight hesitation, "thank you."  
  
A wry smile grew on Yhelbruna's lips that was startlingly similar to Vanya's. "Don't thank us yet – your new body still awaits."  
  
"As for me," Zofia added, "I'm more than happy to say 'you're welcome' and appreciate such a display of good manners." Zan grumbled something, feeling quite embarrassed, which made the othlor trio chuckle the way only old women could.

 

* * *

  
  
To say Kraego Mosswalker looked surprised upon finding himself surrounded by a group of masked women would be an understatement. Zan figured the druid had never been outside his forest before, let alone in another country. He didn't seem displeased – the masked women and magical travel aside, he was in a forest, after all, and when his eyes settled on Zan, they lit up with recognition.  
  
"You've brought me far from home, badger," he remarked before giving the others a deferential nod each. "Greetings to you, masked witches of Rashemen. I once played host to one of your berserkers, and apart from his hygiene he was a joy to have as a guest."  
  
Zan wasn't quite sure what to make of a half-orc criticising a Rashemi for poor hygiene. He eyed Marcus cautiously, remembering how they'd shared body heat not long ago. The badger prayed the man didn't have fleas.  
  
"Greetings to you, Kraego Mosswalker," Vanya said. "My name is Vanya, and this is my brother Marcus. These women with us are othlors Sheva Whitefeather, Zofia, lady Yhelbruna, Galina, Fydra Night-Tree and Alisa, as well as hathrans Paloma and Nythra of the Seven Rivers."  
  
Kraego greeted them all in turn. "Good, strong names on all of you. It's an honour to be in your presence."  
  
"My, he's a flatterer," Paloma said with a wry smile, earning laughter and smiles from the other witches, including a bashful smile from the half-orc. The badger got impatient with all the small talk and placed his front paw on Marcus' foot, drawing a pained yelp from the man.  
  
"Zan, I'm sure you're already familiar with," Vanya continued as if introducing him was exactly what she planned to do next. Zan found himself appreciating such spontaneity.  
  
Kraego looked at the badger and sighed. "You're a Red Wizard."  
  
Zan immediately got defensive. "I killed only three, and they were evil. Durthans, you know! This is my reward."  
  
"How easily it could have been the kind witches standing here," the half-orc remarked, a reminder that Zan was getting pretty tired of hearing.  
  
"Lesson learned already," he grumbled, "and we're all better off. Hooray for us. We got lucky. I got lucky. There, we're done."  
  
Kraego didn't look amused. The witches were quiet, their faces blank. Marcus coughed, poorly attempting to cover up a laugh. Good boy.  
  
"We're going to perform a ritual that will grant him a painless death," Vanya explained before things could take an unfriendly turn, "after which we need you to cast a reincarnation spell on Zan, as per your agreement with him."  
  
"A peculiar thing to suggest for an ancient enemy," the druid remarked, "all because of three dead durthans?"  
  
Vanya shrugged. "Since he can set fire to things just by looking at them in his current form, we figure it won't make any difference for him to be human."  
  
"Fair enough," Kraego said and looked at the witches expectantly. They motioned for him to step out of the circle, and he was soon accompanied by Marcus. Zan stood alone in the middle of a circle of nine witches, suddenly wondering if this was a good idea after all. Old fears and paranoia taught to him over three decades of life surfaced, but he saw the reassuring smile on Marcus' face and, against all upbringing, decided to trust it.  
  
The witches held hands, closed their eyes and started a chant with a rhythm that was surprisingly catchy. Zan couldn't quite resist swaying his butt to the tune. His little dance didn't last long, however, as his limbs grew heavy, his vision blurred and he felt tired and sluggish. He ended up lying on his side, his eyes closing, the last thing he saw being Marcus' tear-streaked face.  
  
Darkness took him, but as expected, it was not to last. He felt life in him not long after, though in truth, time was difficult to measure when you were dead. Lying on his side, he rolled over only to realise his arms were far too short. He tried pushing himself up, but he didn't get far. Looking behind him, he saw a short, furry tail from which paintbrushes were made.  
  
He was a badger.


	5. There and Back Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Thayan's Tale, by Zan Kuras

An unhappy squeak sounded from Zan in his attempt to groan in frustration. Of course he'd lost his power of speech as well, and probably only the druid could restore it. Where in the Nine Hells was he, anyway? How far away had Zan come from the spot where he died? He'd been in a forest, and badgers did live in forests, so he and the witches couldn't be too far away. Still, he was small, and it was much easier to get the Rashemi to come to him. For a moment he pondered setting fire to the trees to get attention, but then reminded himself of the spirits and decided on another, albeit still flashy, way to alert Vanya and Marcus to his whereabouts.  
  
He sat down on his butt and, after struggling for three long seconds, managed to move into a most un-badgerlike position. Zan looked up through the tree-tops until he could spot a bit of blue. Pointing a claw at the sky, he shot a small fireball that evaded the leaves perfectly and exploded in a ray of beautiful colours that, fortunately, didn't set anything on fire. Proud of himself, he moved back down and wandered around in a circle as he waited.  
  
The siblings didn't disappoint, showing up only a few minutes later. They both stopped mid-track as they saw what Zan was, and while Vanya was skilled enough to conceal her amusement, Marcus' eyes sparkled with merriment. Zan glared.  
  
Kraego Mosswalker appeared shortly after, having a conversation with Vanya that the Thayan understood only Kraego's part of. Zan got impatient and walked up to the druid, making various badger noises to get his attention.  
  
"I'm afraid that _awaken_ spell was one of a kind," the half-orc confessed with a sheepish smile. “At least for a while yet.”  
  
Someone touched his butt and he heard a woman chanting the words of a spell. Zan felt power surge through him, and he tested his newfound speech with the following words:  
  
"Curse whatever deity thought it would be fun to make me a badger all over again!" This time Marcus couldn't fight back his amusement and a few chuckles escaped his lips.  
  
"That would be Silvanus," Kraego informed Zan helpfully. "Many druid circles debate whether it's the choice of the deity or the soul that determines the next incarnation."  
  
"Like hell I would choose to be a badger again!" Zan snarled, but Vanya stepped up between them, spear in hand, before he could say more.  
  
"Calm yourself," she flat-out ordered, making his jaw drop. Even further to his surprise, he grew silent. That had to be a first. "As promised, you may stay here, in mine and Marcus' company."  
  
"I would prefer to take Zan with me back to the Silver Marches," Kraego argued, earning a squeak of protest from the badger, "mostly so he doesn't get himself in trouble again. I also prefer not to leave behind the woodlands I tend for too long."  
  
"I've got nothing left in the Marches," Zan argued, "no friends, not even enemies."  
  
"Surely there's something that drives you other than a desire to return to Thay," Vanya suggested. "Aren't you curious, like we, about the Shadow Weave? No doubt the Selûnites know something about it, and the Silver Marches hold many places sacred to them. More so than here, where Selûne isn't worshipped at all."  
  
Zan couldn't deny that he wanted the advantage that the durthans had over him erased. He was surprised Vanya would suggest he go that far for knowledge, however, especially when she clearly knew more about it than he did. "Don't you know more about it?"  
  
"We know there is such a thing as the Shadow Weave," Vanya replied, "but nothing about how its strange and twisted magic works, let alone why none of our spell shields can protect us from it."  
  
He frowned. "Can't you contact the Moon Witches and ask for insight?"  
  
"We would if they didn't move around so much, or were so secretive," the witch that had granted him speech said, "but as it is, they're nigh on impossible to find. They never share their meeting places with outsiders, and no-one knows of their passing until afterwards. For the most part, they contact us."  
  
Zan's heart sank. He'd known a Moon Witch, damn it, and his own stubbornness had killed her! What a fool he'd been! "I knew a Moon Witch, actually," he confessed, "but in my blind foolishness I killed her." His head hung low, but no shocked gasps or words of accusation were thrown his way.  
  
"Who was she?" Paloma's voice cut in, the redhead having joined the congregation.  
  
"A young woman, just out of girlhood," he replied, feeling even more shameful as the unwanted memory of Hulda's smile entered his mind. "Like this careless little sister that you shouldn't keep your eyes off for too long." A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach and his eyes began to water. Sweet, young Hulda. She really hadn't deserved that.  
  
"From Silverymoon?" Paloma pressed. "Named Hulda Swanmantle?"  
  
Zan's head shot up as far as his badger neck allowed. "Yes. Did you know her?"  
  
"Did?" Paloma smiled wryly. "Oh, do I have great news for you."  
  
"What?" Zan demanded, almost on the verge of attacking her for being so cryptic. "What do you know?"  
  
The red-head's smile turned bright. "Hulda Swanmantle is alive."

 

* * *

 

Zan was practically hammering away at Kraego's head before the poor half-orc could even begin to cast the spell that would take them back to the Marches. The Thayan had an important appointment to make, once he was fully human, and he'd be thrice-damned if he was late! He had a proper apology to make to Hulda, too, and broken bonds to mend. Marek might still be dead, but he'd set things right with the Moon Witch even if it was the last thing he did. His feelings were so strong in this matter that he almost forgot he had another reason for seeking her out. In the end, the druid had to cast a spell that paralysed the animal before picking him up and stepping into a tree.  
  
The method left Zan temporarily dizzy, and it didn't help that Kraego moved from one tree to the next as if he was a frog jumping on lily-pads. It made the badger nauseous, and he could barely keep it together by the time they reached the Marches, upon which he immediately vomited. A yelp was heard, in a male voice that was too melodious to his liking, and then Zan was dumped on the ground. It took him several dizzying seconds to orient himself, but when he finally did, he looked up to see Kraego pointing his antler bow at an elf, and not an Eldreth Veluuthra member, like Zan had hoped. In fact, it was a dark elf, one he recognised all too well. The wizard didn't remember his name – Ring-Ring or Rhylly or something – but he knew his face. His eyes scrunched up in confusion, doubly so upon seeing the drow with his arms raised, not even attempting to attack the half-orc. Sure, Kraego was powerful, but dark elves weren't known to surrender so easily.  
  
"Didn't I kill you?" Zan asked, earning a surprised look from the elf that was almost comical. That his stomach contents were on the drow's armour only added more to the comedy effect. It even took some of the sting away from having failed to kill him. The dark elf overcame his original shock a bit too soon to Zan's liking, though.  
  
"I suppose a talking badger shouldn't be an unusual companion to a druid," the drow remarked.  
  
"Who are you and what are you doing in these sacred woods?" Kraego asked, drawing the elf's attention back to him.  
  
"My name is Rhyl'lyn Zinard," the elf replied, "and I seek sanctuary, at least for some time. I heard a powerful druid lived in this forest. I suppose that's you."  
  
"I am indeed a druid," Kraego said, his voice thick with scepticism as he spoke the next words: "But why should I grant you sanctuary, drow?"  
  
White eyebrows were raised. "Ask your animal friends if I've done them any harm." Kraego's eyes darted around, but instead of taking advantage of the druid's temporary distraction, the elf stood still. Zan looked around as well, noticing that the wildlife was pretty much as he'd left it. On a branch sat a big owl, staring at Kraego intently. The badger looked back to the half-orc, who was once again looking at the drow.  
  
“He shot me,” Zan informed the druid.  
  
“You don't count,” Kraego argued. Zan pouted. "For what reason do you seek sanctuary here?" Kraego pressed, apparently not yet convinced.  
  
Rhyl'lyn remained quiet for a while. The wizard assumed he was battling with himself about how much to tell the druid. "I'm an outcast, all alone, with little left to lose." Something in Kraego's eyes changed and he lowered his bow. Zan blinked. That was it? No third degree interrogation? Just what kind of a half-orc was Kraego, exactly?  
  
"Can we expect more of your kind any time soon?" the druid asked, but the drow shook his head.  
  
"I faked my death before coming here," Rhyl'lyn explained, which told Zan more than a lengthy explanation would have. "I just need a place to lie low for a while. It's easier for me to hide out in the wilds than in a city." He paused and then added. "At least on the surface, and I'm not interested in going back to the Underdark."  
  
Seemingly pleased, Kraego put his arrow back in its quiver and placed the bow near a tree. "What do you know about the wilds of the surface?"  
  
The drow shrugged. "A bit. I was taught the basics some years ago."  
  
Nodding, the half-orc looked pleased. "You won't be a burden, then." He indicated the badger. "Not like this one."  
  
"Hey!" Zan snapped. "I went off to die as per your instructions, and did quite well at that, if I may add."  
  
"To the other side of Faerûn," Kraego argued.  
  
Zan stuck his tongue out. "It's the part of Faerûn that I'm from. More or less. Now quit stalling and help me find the one I'm looking for."  
  
The druid frowned. "You heard the witches, a Moon Witch is nigh on impossible to find."  
  
"Loverboy can find her," Zan countered and indicated his head in Rhyl'lyn's direction.  
  
Rhyl'lyn's eyes widened. "You're looking for Hulda?"  
  
A smirk grew on the Thayan's lips. "Not even trying to deny the 'loverboy' part, are you? Then again, you were crazy enough to attack two powerful figures to protect her. She must mean a lot to you for you to go to so much trouble to save her."  
  
The drow's face suddenly turned dead serious. "How do you know about that? There were no animals around at the time. The entire forest was scorched after the nightmares attacked." His eyebrows suddenly knitted together and he looked momentarily confused, as if he'd reached the right conclusion, but struggled to accept it. Damn, but he was smart. Too smart.  
  
"Yes, that's him," Kraego said before grabbing a spear and stepping up to the dark elf, "and I need you to kill him." He held out the spear to Rhyl'lyn, but the drow didn't take it. Instead he flipped out a hand crossbow and aimed it straight at Zan's head.  
  
"With pleasure," he said, his face disturbingly indifferent as he fired the dart. It was too fast for the badger to avoid. Zan felt a sharp pain in his forehead and then all went dark.


	6. Bloody Elves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because their hair is just too fabulous, as Zan will find out. Sharp senses is quite neat, though, but the speech and mannerisms will possibly remain strange and foreign.

Zan stirred, the memory of the drow shooting him in the forehead still fresh in his memory. He groaned, mentally listing all the ways he'd get back at the elf, only to pause at the sound he'd just made. It had been a distinctly humanoid noise, not like the badger squeak he'd almost grown accustomed to. He looked down to see a pair of legs, even a penis. The exact same, as it was. His skin was covered in very little body hair, which was pleasing to him considering Thayan shaving habits, and it even sported a healthy, sun-kissed, tan colour. Letting out a shout of triumph, for surely he was human again, and in his old Thayan body at that, he got up on his feet. It took him a few tries to get it right, especially after having been a badger twice, but he eventually succeeded.  
  
Long, dark hair fell down into his face. Wow, he must have been dead for a long time for his hair to grow that long! The sooner he got his hands on a pair of scissors and some shaving tools he'd get rid of that! He walked around for a bit until he felt confident enough in his steps to approach Kraego and the drow.  
  
"Haha!" he shouted triumphantly, grinning from ear to ear. His mood was so good he even felt inclined to forgive the dark elf. "Rejoice, women of the world, and fear, lesser wizards, for I am human once more!" His voice sounded a bit off, but he wrote it down to him being recently brought back to life. Zan's triumph lasted a whole five seconds until Kraego and Rhyl'lyn turned to look at him. The half-orc's eyes widened, whereas the drow stared for a split second before he burst out laughing. "What?" The wizard's smile died away. "What's so funny?"  
  
Kraego pointed to a nearby pond. "Go look." Zan hesitated slightly, suddenly very worried about what he'd see. Despite the dark elf's amusement and the druid's troubled look, both of them were quite adamant that he go and check his reflection in the water. In the end the Thayan gave in, walking over to the pond and sitting down to look. The face that met him was androgynous, handsome in a way that made Zan think of Starbuster, and angular. Worse still, his eyes were almond-shaped and slanted upwards in a way far too similar to Rhyl'lyn, and when he pulled his long, straight hair back, he beheld long, pointed ears. A loud cry of despair rang across the forest.  
  
Zan Kuras, circle leader of Thay, prominent Red Wizard and hater of elves everywhere, was an elf. A sun elf, even, from the looks of it. He certainly hadn't heard of moon elves sporting tans. He stared at his reflection in shock, his hands moving up in a desperate search for a beard that wasn't there. Hands with fingers far too slender to his liking. Damn it, why hadn't he noticed that before?  
  
"Now _this_ is an improvement," Rhyl'lyn said with a great deal of dark delight, earning a murderous glare from the wizard that had his grin grow wider. "Shall we test your hand-to-eye coordination or intellect first? I hear sun elf faeries make excellent wizards." He wore a smirk that couldn't be killed even by a thousand suns. "Or maybe it's a wood elf faerie you are. They're rather dense, actually, and have no social skills, but they're excellent archers and warriors."  
  
"You speak surprisingly well of your surface cousins," Kraego remarked.  
  
Rhyl'lyn shrugged. "I've lived on the surface long enough to put aside most of the racial prejudice taught to me. If I hadn't, I'd be dead by now." He shot Zan a meaningful look. "Unlike you." The Thayan scowled, but didn't argue.  
  
"I don't think setting him loose on an elven village will be altogether wise," Kraego concluded after a moment's silence.  
  
"Could be fun, though," Rhyl'lyn countered. "Then again, I can always kill him if you want to reincarnate him for the last time."  
  
The druid shook his head. "No, I have no such power left in me for today. I will need time to rest and meditate, when I'm not busy fishing for tonight's dinner and preparing this place for two new residents rather than just one."  
  
"I can go fishing," the drow offered. Both Zan and Kraego blinked, but he looked sincere. "No need to look so surprised, I've lived on the surface for almost a decade now."  
  
The druid shrugged. "Fair enough. I'll prepare my forest dwelling in the meantime."  
  
"What should I do?" Zan asked, drawing their gazes towards his naked form.  
  
"Well, you're a faerie now," Rhyl'lyn began, "so you can talk to the animals and make some friends." He then turned around and walked away. The Thayan listed the many ways in which he'd get back at him.  
  
Kraego proved to be no better. "Alternatively just find a clearing and frolic." Then he left as well. Zan's face fell, and he suddenly felt more alone than ever before. Hugging his knees, he brought to mind Hulda's face and took comfort in knowing she was alive. He also reminded himself that, if Rhyl'lyn or Kraego ever spoke to another Thayan about his furry misadventures, he'd be sure to kill them.

 

* * *

 

Fyrion Deepwind, arcane archer, hunter and traveller across the North, examined the tracks of his kin as he walked across the outer edges of the lake that Zan and Marek had bathed in only a tenday before. Elves of the Eldreth Veluuthra had butchered the humans of Beorunna's Well, the only survivors being a group of Uthgardt girls barely out of their childhood. They had formed their own sacred site to Selûne and built homes around it, after performing lengthy funeral rites for their dead loved ones. Fyrion had avoided them – no doubt they were very angry with elves after what had happened, and he lacked the social skills needed to calm that many angry humans at once.  
  
The elven tracks ended, but human ones appeared instead. These were newer and more fresh, two males and one female. Some tracks led away from the lake, suggesting that they'd all been running, while another set of tracks, of the males, led right into the water. The tracks were cold, of course, but he wasn't there to find any humans, only to find out what had befallen his kin, especially a half-human who had been in contact with the girls of Beorunna's Well. There was also an open grave there, but too small for a human or elf to fit into. That puzzled Fyrion, for there were no halfling or gnome tracks in the area.  
  
Things looked grim. Even though someone had worked a powerful spell of nature to restore the forest and all life in it, something Fyrion could appreciate, it seemed the destruction of this place had either completely annihilated his kin or driven them off elsewhere. He wasn't sure which was worse.  
  
"Urgh," his keen eyes heard a voice say, "I suppose these rags are better than nothing." The voice was distinctly elven, which made him curious and slightly hopeful. Following the direction of the sound, he found a lone, naked sun elf putting on human rags. He spun around upon hearing Fyrion – the ranger had deliberately made noise so his kinsman would hear him – but instead of the relief he expected to see, he was met with a glare. "Do you mind?" the black-haired elf asked. "I'm getting dressed here!"  
  
Fyrion blinked, surprised. Since when did an elf carry human notions of bodily shame? "You've lived too long among humans, brother, if you feel ashamed to be naked in front of another of the People."  
  
Somehow that didn't help the sun elf's mood any. He opened his mouth to reply, but then seemed to think better of it and merely grumbled an apology before tugging at the pants that were much too wide for him. Unsurprisingly, they fell back to the ground. The sun elf moped. Fyrion raised a curious eyebrow. Surely this kinsman couldn't be older than forty, a mere elfling, judging from his behaviour. What was he doing so far from home, alone and naked at that? Surely the Eldreth Veluuthra didn't recruit elves that young?  
  
"I have some clothes to spare," he offered and brought out his _bag of holding_ , a small, enchanted leather pouch that held more than it seemed capable of. The elf shot him a surprised look, as if such an offer was hard to believe. Fyrion resisted frowning. Had he grown up among humans too?  
  
The sun elf looked quite handsome in the archer's clothes, even though they were of simple make. Fyrion even took the time to help him with his hair, getting it out of his face so he could better see his surroundings and remain alert should danger approach.  
  
"My name is Fyrion Deepwind," he said as he braided a small ponytail on the back of the elf's head, "originally from High Forest. What's your name?"  
  
The sun elf tensed up and a long silence followed. Surely he had a name! Fyrion's hands shook in spite of himself, for this elf's human-like behaviour and lack of a name hinted to a life of former slavery!  
  
"Z-Zanin... Sunflower," he said, stuttering badly. The archer's hands stopped trembling, but he still frowned.  
  
"You need not fear your former masters any more," Fyrion informed him. "No foul enchantments lie upon you, and if they did, I'd call in one of our wizards to dispel it. You're free once more, Zanin."  
  
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Zanin replied sourly. The archer felt even more puzzled than before. “I'm just... environmentally damaged. That's all.”  
  
“Perhaps a bit lonely too?” the ranger suggested. Zanin didn't argue. Fyrion tied up the braid with a simple ribbon. “Speaking of which, what brings you out here, all by yourself?”  
  
“I could ask you that question,” Zanin countered.  
  
“Yes,” Fyrion agreed, “except I'm not naked and unarmed.”  
  
“... Point taken,” the sun elf answered in a defeated tone. “I was looking for some clothes. You?”  
  
“I'm looking for some fellow elves who hopefully survived the terrible massacre that took place here,” the archer replied honestly. “As well as a... relative of mine. You wouldn't happen to know what happened, would you? Before the forest was restored, that is.”  
  
“You're a member of the Eldreth Veluuthra?” Zanin asked and rose to his feet. He spun around and shot Fyrion a hateful glare. “Yeah, I know all about them, and good riddance!”  
  
Fyrion rose from his seat, his hands up in front of him signalling for Zanin to calm down. “No, I'm no member of that group.” The sun elf calmed down a bit. “You're the only elf I've found, and while it pleases me to know you haven't been tainted by such evil, I would still like to know what happened. Dark are their hearts and their hatred has driven them blind, but they are of the People all the same. I strive every day to right the wrongs of my kin, but in this case it seems I'm too late.” He felt sadness wash over him, and for a moment there was even a look of sympathy to be seen in Zanin's eyes.  
  
“It's not your fault what they choose to do,” the sun elf argued, albeit mildly, and Fyrion flashed him a kind smile in gratitude.  
  
“No,” the archer agreed, “but if nothing is done, then the conflicts and violence will only escalate.” He shrugged. “I'm just one elf, and it's a lonely road to walk, but better one than none.”  
  
Zanin opened his mouth to speak, but then seemed to change his mind and settled for a shrug. “It's getting late. I should get back to the others.”  
  
Fyrion blinked. “You're here with others?”  
  
The sun elf nodded. “You can come, if you wish. If you don't mind a half-orc and another elf, that is.”  
  
“Not at all,” the archer replied. “As long as they don't have a problem with me.”  
  
Zanin pondered that for a split second. “No, I don't think the half-orc would have a problem with you, he's a druid. The elf might, though, he's a bit of an ass.” He paused and then flashed Fyrion a conspiratorial grin. “Want to join me in playing a prank on him?”  
  
Fyrion hesitated, but then chuckled. This elf was indeed young. “As long as it's harmless, I don't mind.”  
  
The sun elf's grin widened and he led the ranger through the woods.

 

* * *

 

Rhyl'lyn's fishing trip had proven quite effective and he counted a total of six fish, two for himself, two for the druid and even two for the grumpy elf-who-would-soon-be-human, lying on a nearby boulder. He was in the process of catching fish for Kraego's owl when he felt something warm and furry slip down his collar. His immediate reaction was to jerk his shoulders back, which only served to drive the furry creature further down his back. The fishing rod fell out of his hands as he grabbed his belt and unbuckled it, hoping to get the creature out by opening the bottom of his shirt wide, but all that served was for the thing to slip down his pants. At this point he did a very peculiar dance that his fellow drow would endlessly mock him for had they witnessed it, kicking off his boots and jumping around on one leg while vigorously shaking the other. It worked as the furry creature finally came free, revealing itself to be a small, brown squirrel. Rhyl'lyn groaned in frustration as a memory of his first spring resurfaced in his mind. How did small forest animals always manage to slip into his clothes? He put his boot back on with a grumble, followed up by his belt, and then picked up his fishing rod.  
  
He both heard and smelled the sound of something being fried and get dropped back on the boulder behind him, and he turned around to see six fried fishes and a triumphant elf-Zan. Rhyl'lyn's eyes narrowed, but his anger battled with his drow appreciation for a good prank, and in the end he just smiled a defeated smile.  
  
“Well played, Zan,” he congratulated the misplaced sun elf, “well played.” Zan bowed in response to the praise.  
  
“It's still not my best,” the wizard argued and motioned to the fish. “We still need salt, a touch of lemon, some fresh parsley and a whole host of cooked vegetables.”  
  
“A good sauce of sour cream mixed with sweet, Kara-Turan chili works wonders,” Rhyl'lyn supplied, earning a surprised look from Zan, “especially with mustard. Add a dash on top of the fish. It's delicious.”  
  
“I'll have to try that sometime,” Zan remarked. They exchanged smiles. Rhyl'lyn opened his mouth to inform the wizard that his prank would result in payback one day, but was cut short when someone crashed into him from above and pinned him to the ground. He groaned and turned his head around only to see the tip of an arrow pointed in his face. “What in the Nine Hells are you doing?” he heard Zan ask his attacker. “The prank is over, and it even resulted in something useful, namely the cooked fish.”  
  
“You didn't tell me the 'other elf' you wanted to prank was a _dhaerow_ ,” Rhyl'lyn heard a male voice say. The drow looked past the arrow to spot a faerie and his blood turned cold. It wasn't surprising that Zan had found an ally in his prank, but the prejudiced and ignorant Thayan had brought along a surface elf, no doubt thinking “elf is elf” and not realising what aeons of hatred existed between them and Rhyl'lyn's people. “What does that say of you, kinsman, to act so casually among one of their hateful kind?”  
  
Rhyl'lyn didn't need to see Zan's face to know he was confused. “What are you talking about? Sure, they're not the most _likeable_ of elves, but they're elves all the same.” If he survived this, the dark elf vowed he'd teach Zan never to say that last part in front of a matron mother.  
  
“There's nothing elven about the drow,” the melodious voice said hatefully. “They've given up all that is good in our race, to the point where they are as bad as the Eldreth Veluuthra, if not more so.”  
  
“Well, then,” Zan began, and Rhyl'lyn fully expected the mage would suggest killing him, “you must have been around all the wrong kinds of dark elves, because that one doesn't fit the bill one bit. Did you know he's soft on a human, and a Selûnite priestess at that? He was crazy enough to pick a fight with a powerful Red Wizard and his Thayan knight to save her life, even.”  
  
The drow blinked, too stunned by Zan's defence of him to correct him on his observations regarding Hulda. “Humans come in many forms,” the surface elf argued stubbornly.  
  
“Selûnites in much fewer,” Zan countered, “especially the clerics. They are supportive, protective and friendly by default, and always aim to solve problems with conversations first and violence last. They never judge _anyone_ , and I swear to Kossuth, they could make friends everywhere if the rest of the world would just let them. What kind of a person is this drow, then, to care about someone like that? He sure doesn't seem to fit in with the Eldreth Veluuthra.”  
  
“You would truly defend this drow?” the elf asked incredulously.  
  
“I'd set you on fire right now to save his life,” Zan countered, “if not for the fact that you lent me your clothes and helped me when I really needed it. It's not for my own sake, however, but for the aforementioned priestess. Kill that drow and you break her heart. Break her heart and I will forget all about your earlier generosity.” Rhyl'lyn blinked. Zan himself had attempted to kill Hulda, and now he was willing to kill an elf for killing him because his death would bring pain to the priestess? That last bit of information slipped in last among all the other confusing thoughts and feelings, but when it did, the dark elf did something he'd never done before in his entire life, let alone thought he would. He turned his face down and yelled “I surrender!”.  
  
A long silence followed, interrupted only when Zan said: “What?”  
  
“I surrender,” Rhyl'lyn repeated. “You're so ignorant of elven ways it's painful, and now you're about to get me killed because of it. Drow are elves all the same? Don't make me laugh. Only a prejudiced idiot would be happy to stick with gossip and word-of-mouth instead of learning the cold, hard facts.”  
  
“Hey,” Zan snapped, predictably.  
  
“Yes, the drow and the Eldreth Veluuthra are pretty much the same,” he went on before Zan could start off a long tirade, “and yes, I've been no exception to that rule in the past. It's true I fought two Thayans to save Hulda's life, and for reasons I can't even begin to understand. A clever drow would have fought better, or failing that, avoided the encounter entirely. Hulda is no measuring stick for defending other people's moral grounds, however, because that woman befriends anyone who's been wounded by the evils of the world. That's all there is to me. I'm wounded, and Hulda offers a temporary respite and a soothing presence that I don't want to lose just yet. That's all. You won't persuade the elf not to kill me, so I surrender.”  
  
“Will he even accept that?” the Thayan countered.  
  
“No,” replied the elf in a tone so cold he put a matron mother to shame. Rhyl'lyn felt the arrow tip bite into the back of his head, and the air around Zan grew hot with what was no doubt a powerful fire spell. A yelp sounded from the elf, however, and the air turned back to its normal temperature. The arrow fell harmlessly next to Rhyl'lyn's head and the weight of the elf on his back disappeared. Looking up, the drow saw a second set of feet next to Zan's, much bigger and dressed in leather.  
  
“I leave you alone for little more than five minutes, and already you bring trouble,” Kraego Mosswalker said with a shake of his head. Rhyl'lyn got up and turned around, noticing that the half-orc had trapped the surface elf in a web of vines and other greenery, sticking him to a tree. His bow lay next to him on the ground, and apart from his nose and a very disgruntled look in his eyes, he was covered from top to toe. “Another member of the Eldreth Veluuthra? As if this forest didn't have enough problems already.”  
  
“No, he's not from the Eldreth Veluuthra,” Zan cut in, “but he does hate drow quite a bit.”  
  
“Not surprising,” the druid said, “and I assume I'm correct in guessing you brought him here? I doubt Rhyl'lyn would actively seek out people that want to kill him.”  
  
“That is correct,” the dark elf supplied helpfully, enjoying the way Zan pouted and crossed his arms.  
  
“At least I cooked the fish,” the wizard shot back grumpily. Kraego turned to face the surface elf.  
  
“I will leave you here to calm down and contemplate your most recent actions,” he explained. “If you genuinely wish to approach us in peace, you're welcome to do so. Like the Witches of Rashemen, I will forgive. Once. Make another unprovoked attack, however, and you will join Nature's embrace sooner than you think.” He turned to look at the fish and snorted. “Leave it to a drow to think so little will fill the stomach of a grown half-orc and a large owl.” He picked up two of the fishes and tossed them into the air behind him, his large, avian friend flying down swiftly and catching both in its talons. “Help yourselves, I'm sure you're both more hungry than I am.” Turning around, he started walking back the way he came. “I'll catch my own fish while you eat.”  
  
What amusement Rhyl'lyn had felt earlier disappeared – the druid could have at least thanked him! A deep frown set into his features, his thoughts interrupted only when Zan plopped down on a nearby tree log and started eating.  
  
“You shouldn't frown too much,” the Thayan informed him between bites. “If you do, Hulda won't recognise you next time she sees you.”  
  
Picking up the last fish, the drow sat down on a boulder bigger than the one Zan had dumped the things on. “Who said I'm going to see her again?”  
  
Zan shrugged in response. “People who feel that strongly about each other tend to do so.”  
  
Rhyl'lyn openly scoffed at the idea. That seemed to silence the wizard, though when the elf glanced his way, he noticed the man had his face buried in the fried fish, eating it like a badger rather than a humanoid.  
  
'Whatever works,' he thought to himself and continued eating. A muffled sound from the collection of vines was the only indication that his surface cousin was still awake.


	7. Finding Hulda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As if Finding Pinky wasn't hard enough. Let's hope no high priests of Vhaeraun show up this time.

Zan woke the next day to the sound of chirping birds and the sensation of something warm and furry against his chin and lips. His eyes opened only to find his face buried in the fur of a badger. He shot up, which sent the poor animal rolling over on its back as part of it had been resting on Zan, and after it shook its head it looked up at the Thayan with surprised eyes. Zan stared right back, their interaction broken when Kraego arrived and informed him that he was ready to reincarnate him again.  
  
“Don't I get breakfast first?” the wizard whined, but the only reply he got was a silent stare. Rhyl'lyn stepped up next to the druid, short sword in hand and an indifferent look on his face.  
  
“Your last meal in this life was the fish yesterday,” he informed Zan helpfully and slit his throat.  
  
Darkness washed over the wizard for the umpteenth time, and once more did he feel the calling of the afterlife, to join Kossuth's faithful. Like earlier, he felt the tug of reincarnation and he followed it, hoping against hope that this time, he'd finally be human.  
  
He didn't dare check, at first. What if he was another elf, or even a dwarf? It could very well be he'd become yet another badger. His eyes remained shut as he breathed. Slowly but surely, however, he built up the courage to open them.  
  
The world was a sea of colours at first, but after a few seconds of focusing and re-focusing, it finally resembled the Prime Material Plane that he'd come to know, more specifically Kraego's forest home.  
  
In front of him lay a hand, and a hairy one at that. Hairy and tanned in the way only Thayan hands could be. Not too hairy, though, but enough to rule out elf. Zan moved that hand to touch his ear. It was nice and round, and the hair on his head was curly and short. Moving that hand to the front of his mouth – there was still the possibility that he was half orc now – he found no tusks, only ordinary teeth. He tried to say something, but his voice got caught in his throat. After coughing a few times, he said his name over and over in a voice that was unmistakably his. Zan Kuras' voice. A smile grew on his lips and a triumphant shout came from him. He was human once more!  
  
Laughter escaped his lips next and he rolled around in the grass, throwing up leaves and flowers and frightening a squirrel that had come to collect a nut not far from him. He sat up, realised he was naked, in need of a shave and missing all of his effects. His merriment disappeared, especially as he struggled several times just to get up on his feet. He also had to find Hulda, apologise for trying to kill her and learn what he could of the Shadow Weave. She might know a thing or two about Marek as well, he reasoned, and he would certainly ask, even if the answer wasn't what he wanted to hear. After mastering basic walking, he found his way back to Kraego and Rhyl'lyn and openly declared his need for clothes.  
  
A smile graced Kraego's features. “Well, I don't have any clothes for you, but I did manage to procure these items.” He reached behind him and when he turned back around, it was with Zan's enchanted staff and his Amulet of Health, the latter of which had saved him from the poisonous sting of Hulda's imp back when they'd fought Mortimere. Zan was unsure how the druid had managed to get the staff repaired, but he grinned and snatched them right out of the half-orc's hands, making sure to offer him a sincere 'thank you' in the process. He put the amulet on first.  
  
“Red would be the fabric he'd want,” Rhyl'lyn pointed out, to which the druid nodded.  
  
“It would be most fitting,” Kraego supplied, and the knowing look the two shared made Zan curious. This time Rhyl'lyn turned around, and when he faced Zan again, it was with neatly folded, red pants, a yellow shirt and some yellow stockings in his hands. Zan blinked, stunned.  
  
“Don't get the wrong idea,” the drow said quickly. “ _I_ didn't get you these.”  
  
Zan felt curious, even as he accepted the clothes and put them on. “Who did, then?”  
  
“I did,” said a voice that Zan had become familiar with only the day before. Fyrion Deepwind stepped up between the drow and the half-orc, his face sombre and, while not hostile, he didn't look as friendly as he had back when Zan was an elf. “I also took the liberty of getting you some shaving equipment, as Thayans, especially Red Wizards, are known to enjoy being bald. It's placed out on the boulder behind me.”  
  
“Lastly,” Kraego added, and turned around for a second, “boots.” He turned back with a pair of leather boots in hand, finely crafted and with handsome embroidery on. Zan put them on, surprised everything fit, and, after thanking both the half-orc and the elven archer, stepped over to the boulder to get shaved. Fyrion had even provided him with a mirror that could stand on its own.  
  
Once clean-shaven and making sure that his tattoos were still in place, the Thayan sat down with the unusual trio for breakfast and made his announcement before the silence could get awkward and anyone could pose the predictable question of “now what?”.  
  
“I need to find Hulda,” he said between bites. Kraego remained unaffected by this, but Rhyl'lyn looked suspicious. “Don't look at me like that, situation's changed drastically. I've no desire to kill her, quite the contrary.”  
  
“That alone is not enough to convince me to help you find her,” the dark elf countered.  
  
Zan grinned. “So you _are_ a natural at tracking down the elusive Moon Witch.”  
  
“You already knew that before you made your statement,” Rhyl'lyn shot back, a bored look on his face.  
  
The Thayan shrugged. “I could say that I'm sorry I tried to kill her, but that would be my word against my previous actions.”  
  
“Why do you seek this woman?” Fyrion cut in, a question Zan had hoped someone would ask him.  
  
“Because the Moon Witches are Selûne's scholars,” the Red Wizard replied enigmatically, but he was in too good of a mood to leave them with that little to go on, “and their speciality, from what little I know, is the study of the Shadow Weave.”  
  
“Why do you want to know anything about that?” Fyrion pressed, picking out a nut from his pocket and giving it to the squirrel that Zan had frightened earlier. In response, Zan told everyone about the durthans of Rashemen, their dabbling in Shadow Weave magic and his own personal experience with it.  
  
“Apart from the fact that I don't like other spellcasters having such an obvious advantage over me,” he continued, “I've also come to learn a thing or two about Rashemen. Information that has opened my eyes.”  
  
“What is this information?” Kraego pressed. This part Zan struggled with admitting.  
  
“In Thay,” he began, “we wizards who choose to join the war faction do so mostly because of the umpteenth attempt from the Mulhorandi to invade us. Sadly, this also means we're at the disposal of whatever warmongering zulkir wants to throw us and our brave and loyal knights at Aglarond and Rashemen. These invasion attempts are difficult to justify for anyone, even from the most cold and pragmatic point of view, so many of us have convinced ourselves that if we don't invade, they will. I was such a one.”  
  
“And?” Fyrion pressed.  
  
“I don't know about Aglarond,” Zan went on, “but we're dead wrong when it comes to Rashemen. Even if the Witches were as vile and evil as we're told they are, which they're not, they still don't have the power to invade us. Their powers are tied to Rashemen, and that's where they stay.  
  
“However,” he continued, “the durthans, which would be the evil witches, have found a way around that with their Shadow Weave magic.”  
  
“And this is your problem how?” Rhyl'lyn asked as he helped himself to an apple from a basket of fruit that Kraego put forth.  
  
“Well,” Zan finalised, “the Witches, or hathrans, might be happy to stay in Rashemen, but the durthans want to invade every nation around them and kill all Red Wizards. That gives me quite a bit of _personal_ motivation for figuring out their alien magic. Not that some Red Wizards wouldn't deserve it, mind you, but that doesn't mean that the rest of us should go down with them.”  
  
Rhyl'lyn shrugged. “I'm hardly in a position to comment on that. Quite the contrary, as someone who acts in self-interest, I would be inclined to agree, provided you don't try to kill me or Hulda again.”  
  
“I've lost all interest,” Zan confessed, “and even what interest I had at the time was minimal.”  
  
“Who's to say _you_ won't try to kill this Hulda?” Fyrion cut in, his eyes on Rhyl'lyn. “You might not be evil, but there is still something shifty about you, something lurking beneath that thin veneer of self-control.”  
  
Rhyl'lyn's eyes turned dark. “I would _never_ kill her.”  
  
Fyrion didn't look convinced. “Not even if Vhaeraun told you to?”  
  
Rhyl'lyn looked taken aback for a moment, before collecting himself. “What would you know about me or what god I follow?”  
  
The moon elf's eyes narrowed. “You carry his symbol around your neck.” He nodded at the chain that was barely visible between Rhyl'lyn's shirt and armour. Rhyl'lyn reached up and touched it, an uncomfortable look on his face.  
  
“Not that it's any of your business,” he said evasively, “but that's more of an old habit than any lingering loyalty on my part.”  
  
“An old habit suggests that something _does_ linger,” Fyrion countered before looking from the drow to Zan. “Whoever this Hulda is, she takes a great risk befriending people like you two. I don't know why she does it or what she hopes to accomplish, but I hope for her sake you treat her as well as you should.” Both Zan and Rhyl'lyn avoided looking at the elf.  
  
“I, for one, think Hulda Swanmantle sounds like a lovely woman,” Kraego supplied. “One I would like to meet, in fact.” Rhyl'lyn grumbled something about 'things getting crowded', but if the druid heard, he didn't show it. “I understand your reservations about Zan, Rhyl'lyn, and so I offer myself up as a jailer for him, with the hope that I get to meet this woman that you care for so much.”  
  
“I will come as well,” Fyrion added. “I have questions I need to ask about the elves that attacked Beorunna's Well, and while the women there might not be happy to see me, it's a challenge I must brave if I am to learn the truth.” Rhyl'lyn looked at them all as if they were mad. Several long seconds of silence passed before he finally sighed in defeat.  
  
“Fine,” he said, rubbing his temples, “but even though I seem to have a talent for running into her, that doesn't mean I'm good at actively seeking her out. Up until now, our encounters have all been random.”  
  
“Which, when dealing with a cleric,” Zan supplied, “means it's divine intervention, and so we'll need to ask a deity.”  
  
Kraego leaned back in his large, chair-shaped tree log. “I shall ask Silvanus, then. If she's in the wilds of the Silver Marches, or anywhere near it, he will know.” He closed his eyes and went into a deep, meditative state. Fyrion immediately retreated, as did Rhyl'lyn, making Zan suspect that they didn't want to intrude on the moment. Zan wasn't terribly religious, but he'd witnessed the powers that the clerics of Kossuth commanded and knew not to test it. No doubt Kraego's relationship to his god was similar in some respects, and according to the druid's own words, Silvanus had been the one to grant the power needed for Zan's three reincarnation attempts. He didn't leave, but he remained quiet as he waited for Kraego to get a response.  
  
Fifteen minutes later did the druid open his eyes, at which point Zan had dozed off. Kraego made a sound, however, and it rose the otherwise unrousable sleeper. Zan looked around, shouting something about fancy arrows before he fully remembered where he was and noticed the druid was looking at him oddly.  
  
“She's in Selûne's Rest,” Kraego said, “the altar of Selûne that is surrounded by houses rebuilt by the virgins. She's not alone, however – her two brothers are with her, as is another. Silvanus told me that you know him, but he didn't know his name.”  
  
Zan's eyebrows shot up to the middle of his forehead. There was only one man he'd known who had also been in the company of Hulda, and that was Marek. Could it be that his friend and brave knight was still alive? It was almost too much to hope for. His head spun with the possibilities this implied, even as he got to his feet and joined the others for the journey to Selûne's Rest. Fyrion and Rhyl'lyn immediately set to packing various foodstuff and Kraego busied himself with talking to animals for whatever reasons a druid had for doing so. Zan counted the spells he knew without a spellbook and found they were disappointingly few in number. He'd need to get a new book or three, preferably leather-bound and enchanted to protect against the elements, and re-learn many of his old spells. Not to mention he'd need some new robes, preferably red, which would also have to be enchanted, especially with protection against fire. It was a long and expensive journey that lay ahead of him.

 

* * *

 

Of expensive things were the inclusion of Selûne's Rest into the Silver Marches nation. The formal paper signing didn't cost much, fortunately, but the rebuilding of homes, opening of a potion and bookshop, an inn, a theatre, a tavern and a music school did. Hulda smiled sympathetically to the official sent from Silverymoon. The virgins of Selûne's Rest had not wasted their newfound time and freedom and had already come up with many ideas for their new home. Hulda had arrived with magical items blessed by the Moonmaiden, as well as a score of Silverstars and Moon Witches to help with the planning, rebuilding and protective wards and enchantments. The Uthgardts of Beorunna's Well, in their suspicion of magic, had refused any such charms, but now the virgins listed a lot of things they would need protection from – fire, cold temperatures, rot and bugs, to name a few. Of course, magic alone couldn't solve all of that, and it was with the help of good building techniques and gentle advice that the virgins were persuaded to ease up on the list.  
  
Still, the many things they wanted to build and expand upon would surely give the poor man a headache long before the day was over. Marek, Harald and Jonas had all wisely left in search of clues about Zan, leaving Hulda with the official, Silverstars, Moon Witches and a dozen overly enthusiastic virgins. They were all seated around a large, circular table that had been brought from Silverymoon. It had been placed inside the building that was going to be a tavern, and along with it came alms collected by the church of Selûne and an impressive stipend put together by the merchants of the city. High Lord Taern Hornblade was putting together a collection of copies of some of the most precious religious tomes and history books from the Vault of the Sages. Several scholars of Oghma prepared to go to Selûne's Rest to teach the virgins how to read and write, as well as the basics of mathematics, history, science and arcane lore. Bard followers of Selûne would arrive within the next tenday to teach them sacred songs and dances. The attention that such a small group of virgins had garnered was almost unbelievable. Hulda would have struggled to believe it had she not been in the middle of it.  
  
After hours of debating back and forth, the virgins finally agreed to put the theatre and music school in the same building, potions, books and spell components in the same store and the butcher's shop right next to the inn. The hunter's cabin would be the building closest to the woods, and the smithy would stand on the opposite side of the inn and a good distance away from any homes. As soon as the discussion took on a more agreeable turn, Hulda decided she was no longer needed and slipped away quietly, finding her way to the exit easily enough and stubbing her toe only once. She was on a roll.  
  
Once outside, however, she bumped into Jonas, much to her surprise. It was a literal bumping into, too, as her forehead and nose connected rather roughly with his back. She looked around, noticing Marek and Harald were there, too. When had they returned? Jonas turned around, a perplexed look on his face, and asked her: “Hulda, do you know these people? The only one Harald and I recognise is the drow.”  
  
Hulda's heart skipped a beat and her eyes grew wide upon hearing the word “drow”. Rhyl'lyn had been practically non-existent after he helped her and Marek escape from Shar-worshipping Thayans, and once she'd been able to collect herself after Marek's resurrection had her thoughts gone back to the elusive elf. Why he'd stolen Pinky, was one. It could only be used by a Selûnite, so the reason he'd need it was a mystery. She knew he had a tendency to travel, but there had been something about him last time, something in his eyes that she couldn't quite put her finger on. He'd done quite well in pretending to be calm, but Hulda knew him too well not to see through it.  
  
The only conclusion she could draw was that he was in some sort of trouble, but she couldn't fathom with whom. Were the followers of Lolth after him? No, Pinky would be of no help there. The morningstar was designed to destroy undead, not spiders.  
  
Rubbing her nose, the blonde stepped past Jonas to see what he was talking about. There, indeed, with his arms crossed and keeping a short distance between himself and the people talking, stood Rhyl'lyn. Next to him stood an elf she'd never seen before, but who bore a striking resemblance to Starbuster. Next to him again stood a half-orc with a surprisingly friendly look on his face and a giant owl on his shoulder.  
  
“Hulda!” A blur of red assaulted her, and the next thing she knew, Harald was prying off an overly excited... Zan?  
  
Last time she'd seen him, he'd tried to kill Rhyl'lyn, successfully killed Marek and very nearly killed her. Marek's tales about their travels and misadventures back in Thay had helped put a damper on her dislike of the man somewhat, but she still had Pinky up in front of her in a defensive position. Zan's enthusiasm faltered slightly, and when Jonas started flipping through his spellbook did his face take on a look of sheer panic.  
  
“No, no, no!” He flailed his arms and kicked out, but Harald's grip was firm. “I come in peace! Hulda, I'm sorry for what I did, I really am. I need to talk to you!” Then he smiled his most innocent-looking smile, which to Hulda looked like a vulture that had just found a meaty corpse. “It's about the Shadow Weave. We have a mutual enemy. Several, actually. I need your help.” A look of helplessness slipped onto his face next, and that, she could tell, was genuine. She lowered Pinky, Jonas put his spellbook aside and Harald let go of the flailing wizard. Zan seized upon this opportunity to wrap Hulda in a hug, his grip firm and Hulda could have sworn she heard him sniffle. That killed off most of her reservations. He then pulled back and wiped his eyes. “You don't know what a relief it is to see you alive. You also have my thanks for taking care of Marek, and again my apologies for what I did.” This time his smile looked less intimidating and he turned to look at Marek. “Don't think I'm only here for Hulda, though! I haven't forgotten about you, brave and capable knight. However, we can swap stories later.” He turned back to Hulda. “There's something happening in the East right now, more specifically Rashemen, and if left unchecked it will threaten everyone there, not just Thay. Though, naturally, that's where my main concerns lie. Long story short, I need to know what you and your fellow Moon Witches know about the Shadow Weave.”  
  
Hulda's head spun with that much information all at once. “I know only a bit of the theory, but nothing about the more practical aspects.”  
  
Zan nodded. “Theory is no problem for a wizard.” He looked to Jonas. “You should pay attention to this, too. It might become important to you one day.”  
  
“My mentor is at the inn right now,” Hulda informed him. “She was about to start my next lesson, which is exactly about the Shadow Weave. We can go talk to her if-” Zan was already on his way inside, a firm grip around Hulda's wrist as he dragged her along. They were greeted with two seconds of stunned silence from everyone inside, and then Zan was swarmed by a large group of virgins.  
  
“He's one of the people who helped save us!” shouted one of the girls, barely out of her childhood but clinging to his waist nevertheless. Two more grabbed his legs and a third placed her hands under his back. Together they hoisted him up into the air and carried him over to a collection of pillows from Silverymoon, where they swarmed him once more. Zan was cuddled, kissed, hugged and petted like a cat, all the while managing to shout: “Get out of my way, I need to get help from a Witch!”  
  
That very statement made by a Red Wizard was of such historical importance and controversy that the city official quoted him on it in his papers. Laughing, the Silverstars and Moon Witches pried the girls off of him until finally he was back up on his feet. Then he cleared his throat. “Not that I am adverse to such affections towards my person, but I'm a bit busy at the moment, not to mention my constitution can't handle that many.” He paused and then added. “I'm also a private person and would like to not have onlookers.”  
  
Hulda stepped up next to him before more distractions could take place. “Mildgyd, meet Zan. Zan, meet Mildgyd. Mildgyd is the mentor I told you about.”  
  
“Yes of course,” Zan said, having collected himself and extended his hand to her, “nice to meet you.”  
  
Mildgyd, a tall, plump woman with a perpetually sour look on her face, examined Zan from top to toe. Hulda noticed that Mildgyd was taller than him. “You tried to kill my student.”  
  
Zan's face fell, but he recovered fast. “A terribly misguided act on my part. No-one regrets that more than me. I was very relieved to find out she was alive.”  
  
“Because you need something from her,” Mildgyd remarked, still looking and sounding sour.  
  
“From you, to be specific,” Zan corrected her, “or any Moon Witch willing to teach me about the Shadow Weave.” He put up a perfectly charming smile. Mildgyd's expression remained unchanged. “Well, teach _us_.” He indicated Hulda. Mildgyd remained silent. “Please?”  
  
Looks were exchanged between the Moon Witches gathered. Hulda found herself confused. They'd taught Shadow Weave lore to a couple of wizards from the Zhentarim organisation in the past, so why not a Red Wizard? There was no call for the silent treatment, not for a matter that existed between her and Zan. It was one that she wasn't fully comfortable with yet, but given time all wounds would heal.  
  
“I figured that,” Hulda began, “since it's the next step in my training, Zan could study with me.”  
  
Mildgyd fixed Zan with a stare. “Why do you want to learn about the Shadow Weave?”  
  
“So I can burn durthans,” Zan replied without hesitation.  
  
The Moon Witch frowned. “Explain yourself. What does the Shadow Weave have to do with the durthans?” Hulda, too, was curious. She had never been to Rashemen, but she knew Moon Witches who had, and the journey had forever marked them, though in a good way of course. To Hulda it was much like a fairy tale land, distant yet pulling at her love of travel and sense of adventure.  
  
“They wield it the way a bard does his wit,” Zan explained. “I got to experience it up close, and I can't say it's something I wish to go through again.”  
  
Mildgyd wore a look that Hulda had never seen on her before – concern. “We need to send some of our own to Rashemen and share our lore with the hathrans.”  
  
This time it was Zan's turn to frown. “There are durthans that have infiltrated the hathrans. Be careful who you trust.” Mildgyd looked at him as if he'd spontaneously grown a second head.  
  
“What will you do with the knowledge should I give it to you?” she asked, apparently deciding that the Red Wizard was worth her attention after all.  
  
“After I roast as many durthans as possible?” he retorted. “I will teach my fellow evokers and any other Red Wizard that prefers the Weave about it. The durthans won't catch us unaware.”  
  
“If a civil war breaks out in Rashemen?” Mildgyd's eyes narrowed. Despite how accepting the nature of Selûnites were, their loyalties still lay with their friends.  
  
“I will root for the hathrans,” he shot back, which was as true as it could get. “In practice, that means I'm going to hide somewhere and not tell my fellow Thayans. So teach the hathrans well, and fight with them if you have to, but whatever you do, _don't lose_.” The last words were spoken with a deep, authoritative voice. A heavy silence followed, and for a while Hulda wondered if Mildgyd would tell him to mind his place.  
  
Instead, a wry smile grew on her face. “Make sure you nurture that new-found wisdom, Red Wizard. I hear it's a rarity where you come from.” She then turned to Hulda. “Teaching you is challenging enough, but I've never been known to back down from such before. Do you think you can handle sharing your tutor with another?”  
  
Hulda beamed. “Of course.”  
  
“It's decided, then,” she said and turned back to Zan. “We start the first lesson right away. Unless you live up to another part of Red Wizard reputation and refuse to be taught by a woman?”  
  
“My best teacher back in Thay was a woman,” Zan replied and now it was his turn to smile wryly. “Some of the best academic texts in Thay were written by women, too. I carry no foolish notions that women make poor teachers, or scholars for that matter. Not on the basis of their gender.”  
  
Mildgyd accepted this with a nod. “The other Moon Witches will figure out what to do about the hathrans. Hulda, give Zan a quick course in the theory while I get the things we need.” She turned and left.  
  
Zan looked to Hulda. “Does she always see through a person so easily?” He did his best not to mope. “I've spent years – decades – among zulkirs and tharcions alike and guarded myself from treacherous teachers as well as apprentices, yet she saw more of me than I'd like her to.”  
  
Hulda blinked. “We're Selûnites. The moon lights up the darkness. There's nothing in the dark that we can't see. Granted, Mildgyd sees more than most.” She shrugged. “It might even be a side effect of learning to see through the secrets of the Shadow Weave. Maybe one day you and I will be able to do the same.”  
  
“Speaking of which, there was a bit of theory...” he began, looking at her expectantly. Hulda urged him to sit down. All around them the tent was abuzz with the news about Rashemen, but the pair was already completely engrossed in their studies.


	8. Tying Up Loose Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets are revealed, the drow does some introspection and a feast is arranged.

An awkward silence settled as the virgins of Selûne's Rest beheld the two elves and half-orc. The Uthgardt had long been raised to view magic with suspicion, especially elves, and orcs were one of their most hated enemies. Kraego was nothing but friendly and charming, however, and soon won them over. The fact that Fyrion looked a lot like a certain half-elf “priest” didn't pass unnoticed, however.  
  
“He was my son,” Fyrion confessed, and everyone turned quiet. “I'm sorry for what he did to you, and I'm certain he deserved what he got-” his voice broke off in a most un-elf-like fashion, but before he could continue, one of the girls stepped up and grabbed his hand.  
  
“We're sorry for your loss,” she said and gave that hand a gentle squeeze. “No doubt he was a good man, but we've seen good men of our own tribe... change as well. It's never easy.”  
  
“You shouldn't have to apologise for his behaviour,” another virgin chimed in, this one taller and more broad-shouldered, “and it's not like we're on our best behaviour when we're angry either. Uthgardt and all that.” She shrugged.  
  
“Come,” the first one bid, letting go of his hand and pointing to the stone altar they'd built and dedicated to Selûne. “Let's find some chairs and speak under the Moonmaiden's gaze, all of us.” Her eyes went to Kraego, who readily accepted, but when she looked to the drow, he was hesitant.  
  
“I just came here to help the Red Wizard find Hulda,” he said off-handedly and took one step back.  
  
“No point in declining their hospitality, Rhyl'lyn,” Kraego cut in, stopping the dark elf in his tracks. “Especially since you have nowhere else to go.”  
  
“Wasn't I supposed to stay with you?” the drow countered.  
  
“You attract too much trouble,” the druid parried. Rhyl'lyn opened his mouth to argue, but found he had no words. “The forest I restored needs time to settle before it can handle that kind of trouble again.”  
  
“I was the one at fault there, though,” Fyrion chimed in. “Rhyl'lyn did nothing wrong.”  
  
“It's more complicated than that,” the drow pointed out, but didn't elaborate further. The moon elf didn't seem to require further explanation, however.  
  
“Moon-sister Hulda looks to be busy with her studies, and no doubt the wizard will keep her occupied for many hours,” the taller virgin observed. “If you're a friend of hers, then you have our hospitality as well.” Her gaze swept across the area, taking in the tents and skeletons of buildings being built. “What we have to offer of it anyway.”  
  
Rhyl'lyn hesitated. He'd done everything he could to avoid being around Hulda too much, especially considering his emotional reaction to seeing her, but it seemed more interaction between them was inevitable. Fyrion's presence also bothered him for reasons he couldn't quite pinpoint. “I... accept, but I need to be alone right now.”  
  
“Alright,” the smaller virgin said, no blame in her eyes or voice. “Come speak to whom you will, circumstances willing. The tavern's kitchen opens today if you should grow hungry.”  
  
The drow nodded and left, though he didn't stray far. A spot of shadow under a tree became his resting ground where he was left to ponder many things. While drow were not the types to do introspection, Rhyl'lyn had, in his time on the surface, found that such a practice became inevitable simply in order to pass the time. As always it proved effective. People milled about on all sorts of business and several hours later, just as the sun's rays kissed the horizon, did Fyrion approach him. Rhyl'lyn figured it had been inevitable, and in truth, he had some questions for the moon elf, especially in regards to his son.  
  
“Do you mind if I join you?” Fyrion asked, though it was more a formality than a question. Rhyl'lyn still felt like pulling his leg a bit, though.  
  
“Yes,” he said, stone-faced and glaring at his surface cousin. In response, the archer stood frozen. The drow smiled. “No, sit down if you wish.” Fyrion obeyed, but he didn't say anything, and soon enough the silence started to bore the dark elf. “Did you want to talk about something?”  
  
“I was waiting for you to speak,” came the reply. Rhyl'lyn frowned, at first, but found he couldn't quite blame the other elf.  
  
“So your son became the naughty child,” the drow concluded, chancing a glance and noticing that Fyrion took no offence. Good first start.  
  
“He was our only child,” the moon elf explained. “Not a lot of competition.”  
  
A shrug came to Rhyl'lyn's shoulder, but it felt awkward and forced. “Fair enough.” Another long silence settled. “Does it hurt when they die?” Rhyl'lyn finally asked, unable to think of anything other than Hulda's tender smile and bright eyes.  
  
Fyrion was silent for a few more seconds before he responded. “Yes. Non-elven friends and lovers bring an immense amount of joy, but ultimately it hurts when they die.”  
  
“How long does it take to heal?” the drow pressed, staring into his lap.  
  
“In the case of a lover it takes about a hundred years, at least.”  
  
Rhyl'lyn felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. A whole century's worth of grief and pain over a few, measly decades of joy? That wasn't fair! Not that he cared much about fairness in general, but how could that possibly be worth it? His head spun and he felt nauseous all of a sudden. “Is that really worth the short time you have together?” He looked up as he asked this, noticing not a single trace of regret in the elf's face.  
  
“I regret nothing,” he said firmly, his eyes and tone perfectly in tune with his words. “Pain of loss and grief will happen, regardless of how long my own life will last. For example,” he looked to the east, “I lost my entire family to the phaerimm attack on Evereska. Should I regret having loved them just because they didn't live the full lifespan otherwise expected of them?” He turned back to look at Rhyl'lyn. The drow found that point difficult to refute. “When Arinion announced his hatred of us, it broke my wife's heart and she died prematurely as well.”  
  
He figured Arinion was the real name of 'Starbuster', as Hulda had called him. Rhyl'lyn frowned. Why was this elf constantly on the losing side? It bothered him, though he refrained from saying so. “You really have nothing left,” the drow remarked.  
  
Fyrion nodded. “Like I said to Zan when he was one of the People, it's a lonely path that I walk.”  
  
“Yet you walk it still,” Rhyl'lyn observed. The moon elf nodded. “Why?”  
  
“Because it's not my time yet,” the archer explained, “and to lie down and die on the inside is not an option.”  
  
That, the drow could appreciate. There was certainly a level of strength in those who managed to keep on going after life threw them a bitch slap. “You don't have to be all alone, though,” Rhyl'lyn remarked for reasons he didn't quite understand. Fyrion looked at him curiously. “I'm sure Selûne's Rest will welcome you whenever you need their hospitality.”  
  
The corner of the elf's smile went up by a fraction. “Indeed, and I still call Evereska my home. However, I have no-one left who is close to me, and I'm not ready to accept anyone into my life like that again any time soon.” His gaze went to his own feet, and for a moment, Rhyl'lyn pitied him. That, in turn, caught him off guard and he ended up doing battle with his own feelings. He hated pity – it was basically condescension with a smile. There was a part of him that disagreed, considering what it actually felt like, and he ended up scowling.  
  
“If you're wondering about what to do with Hulda...” Fyrion began, interrupting his thoughts and ending up at the receiving end of Rhyl'lyn's scowl. The drow closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. A chuckle sounded from the moon elf. Rhyl'lyn glared at him, but it did nothing to dampen the elf's spirits. “Don't hesitate,” Fyrion went on after he'd calmed down. “The longer you wait, the worse it gets.”  
  
“She's not going to be around for long,” the warrior remarked.  
  
Fyrion nodded. “All the more reason. It could be too late tomorrow, or even in five minutes from now, and even an elf's life is too short to worry about what could have been.”  
  
There were many wisecracks that Rhyl'lyn could make to that, but he didn't want to. “She's annoyingly clumsy.”  
  
Musical laughter sounded from Fyrion. “So was my wife.”  
  
“Yet you married her,” the drow remarked.  
  
The archer shrugged. “I fell in love, and so deeply I couldn't get out of it even if I tried.” He smiled. “Still, she was terribly clumsy. One time, when she was thick with Arinion, she somehow managed to overturn the outdoors tub that we used to bathe the animals.”  
  
Rhyl'lyn snorted. “Hulda could do worse.”  
  
“That wasn't all there was to it,” Fyrion went on. “That ruckus then startled a nearby colony of pixies. Ever seen pixies when they're startled?” The drow shook his head. “Me neither,” the moon elf confessed. “In fact, they go from startled to enraged so quickly not even an elf's keen eyes can spot the change in their expression.”  
  
“What happened to your wife?” Rhyl'lyn asked, knowing full well the damage that a colony of the diminutive creatures could do when they were angry.  
  
“Oh, she was fine,” the archer said dismissively. “Even in such a state, pixies know not to harm a pregnant woman. They spooked the cattle something fierce, though, and that brought chaos to the rest of the farm.”  
  
“I still don't see how this is anywhere near Hulda's level,” the warrior argued.  
  
“Oh, but it gets better,” the moon elf countered. “Sólveig – that was her name – tried to appease the pixies, but in so doing she somehow managed to trip and fall into a vat of raspberry jam.” Rhyl'lyn touched his forehead in frustration, but Fyrion continued even then. “The vat had been poorly balanced and tipped over, spilling most of the jam into the ground. This then drew a lot of attention from the wild animals as well, just as the pixies unleashed the farm animals on the area.”  
  
At this point, the dark elf was mortified. He was certain not even Hulda could accomplish that level of mayhem, and a part of him even envied his surface cousin. “She was a menace.”  
  
“She was,” Fyrion agreed, “but she was _my_ menace.” Then his face broke into a grin. His eyes were wet, though whether that was due to laughing or because of his grief, Rhyl'lyn didn't know, and he felt it inappropriate to ask.  
  
“I don't look forward to the day she dies,” he confessed, and a look of understanding came from the moon elf, “but I hope I can one day talk about Hulda the way you do your wife.”  
  
Fyrion nodded. “You'll have to create some stories to tell first, though. Maybe one day we can sit down and compare notes.”  
  
A wry smile grew on the dark elf's lips. “Hulda will have to work hard to top that tale you just told, though.”  
  
“Yes, she does,” the archer agreed and got up on his feet. “I take it this means you're done questioning your feelings on the matter?”  
  
Rhyl'lyn shrugged. “I suppose.”  
  
“Good,” Fyrion said and started walking away from the settlement. “My job is done, then.” And with that, he disappeared into the darkness, though Rhyl'lyn's heat-sensitive eyes could spot his form for a good while longer until he was outside of even his range of vision.  
  
“Rhyl'lyn?” Hulda's voice called out, as if on cue. He looked in her direction and noticed she was looking at him expectantly.  
  
“You know, I think I could be friends with that faerie,” he said and nodded in the direction that Fyrion had left.  
  
A smile grew on the blonde's lips. “Good. Now come, you must be starving.” She nodded in the direction of the tents, where Zan, Marek, the Uthgardt virgins and the whole Silverymoon congregation sat around a large fire, cooking a huge pig and a deer, from the look of it. There were also various pots hanging over the fire, probably for the greens. “Unless you wish to leave again?” There was a slight tremor in her voice, suggesting, perhaps, that she hoped for the opposite.  
  
“No, I'm staying,” he said and walked up next to her. Her smile widened and he noticed a blush crept up her cheeks as he stepped closer. As always, she tried to salvage some of her dignity and turned around, no doubt meaning to go to the fire. He slipped his hand inside hers before she could take even a single step, however, and she turned back around, her surprise so blatant ordinarily he would have mocked her for it. Rhyl'lyn was in no mood to make fun of her, however, and sent her an expectant look. In response she turned back around, still blushing, the two of them walking hand in hand to where the feast took place.


End file.
